


No Man Is An Island

by kiite



Category: One Piece
Genre: Acesan is in chapter 14 only, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, General one piece spoilers, Guilt, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, OK chapter 25 also. ok, Sickness, Smoking, Trauma, Vinsmoke Sanji-centric, Whumptober 2019, ok I lied. chapter 17 is acesan also
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2020-12-15 22:04:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 21,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21025454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiite/pseuds/kiite
Summary: Collection of short Sanji-centric fics for Whumptober.





	1. Shaky Hands

**Author's Note:**

> i want to beat sanji up every single day. this is how i channel that energy. thank you and good night

This wasn’t the first time this had happened. It had happened on the Baratie, when he was determined to lay down his life for the old geezer. It had happened when they had run into Aokiji, though he blamed it on the cold, untrue as that was. And, loathe as he was to admit it, it had even happened on Thriller Bark, when he had found Zoro like  _ that _ .

But it was different this time. It had never been like this. Ever since he’d held that shitty newspaper in his grip, read through it with mounting panic, his chest growing tighter, tensing, aching— his hands hadn’t been able to stop shaking. He hated it.

It wasn’t like those other times, when he had been facing death, or an enemy much too strong for him, or afraid of losing— no,  _ angry _ , Sanji reminded himself, angry at the shitty swordsman for knocking him out, that’s what it was. This time Sanji couldn’t stop shaking because he was so mad at  _ himself. _

_ I should have been there, _ Sanji found himself thinking daily during his stay in his personal pink hell. Sanji had always known his place on the crew; he had known it on Drum Island, on Enel’s Ark, on Thriller Bark— he had to protect his friends, even if it cost him his life. Sanji had been too busy galavanting around in heels instead of fighting alongside his captain where he belonged, and they all paid for it, with Ace’s life instead of his.

Logically, Sanji knew he couldn’t say for sure if the outcome would have changed had he been there. Things could have ended much the same, but that didn’t matter; what did matter was that Sanji had failed his captain. For that, he couldn’t forgive himself.

He would have time to apologize later. Not in words, of course, Sanji wasn’t one to  _ talk _ about his feelings, but through his actions. In two years, he wouldn’t leave his captain’s side again, no matter what tried to force them apart. He would be there when he was needed, kick whoever’s ass needed kicking, take whatever hits he needed to take. That he could do.

Until then, Sanji’s only option was to keep practicing the vital recipes he had earned, pretending his knife cuts weren’t sloppy from the way the knife rattled in his hand. 


	2. Explosion

Reiju was wrong. Or maybe she had lied to him. He didn’t know, and he really didn’t care, especially not now, when all he could hear was the fucking _ beeping— _

Everyone was yelling, and Sanji was no exception. He was vaguely aware of his own voice, simultaneously begging someone, _ anyone _ , _ get these fucking things off, please _, and warning everyone to get away from him should they be caught in the blast. In his panic, he didn’t have the capacity to acknowledge how contradictory his statements were. He simply didn’t want this to be happening.

Backing away from the group like a cornered animal, Sanji moved to tangle a hand nervously in his hair before thinking better of it and positioning his hands as far from himself as he could. He could feel his crewmates’ gazes on him; Nami had a hand over her mouth, horrified, and for the moment any animosity she still held towards him was forgotten. He wanted to take her hand in his and tell her it would be alright, but then, of course, she might lose her hands too. And oh god, he was going to lose his hands, his precious hands. Zeff would be so angry that he treated his most important tools with such neglect.

Someone, he wasn’t sure who, was reaching out for him, but Sanji screwed his eyes shut and moved even further away. He felt a hand close around his wrist and opened his eyes to see Luffy. “Luffy,” he managed to say, voice wobbling, “Don’t—“

But Luffy cut him off, squeezing his wrist in a reassuring way. “Let me try,” His captain commanded, and Sanji could not deny his captain’s orders. He recalled that Luffy had spent his two years training under Rayleigh, who had successfully removed Camie’s exploding collar back at the auction house. Maybe he actually knew how to remove it? _ Or maybe he just doesn’t want you to fight your battles alone anymore _, a part of him whispered, but he couldn’t worry about that now. He went limp in Luffy’s grasp, tension leaving his body as he trusted in his captain to save him.

What must have been only a few seconds stretched on for what felt like hours. Sanji couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t _ think— _ all he could process was the beeping. Faster and faster, drilling into him, until— until nothing. The beeping had stopped. Sanji looked down at the bracelets on his wrist, still there but now silent, and up at his captain, who was giving him a signature Luffy smile. For the first time since he’d been dragged to this godforsaken island, Sanji actually felt _ free. _

The explosion came a few seconds later.

Sanji didn’t look down at his hands.


	3. Delirium

Sanji didn’t _ get _ sick. It just didn’t happen. He kept telling himself this as he dragged himself out of bed for the past few days, feeling progressively worse with each one that passed. His body ached, his appetite was gone, and sometimes his knees nearly buckled beneath him; but he was _ fine. _

He dragged himself to the kitchen. It was time to make breakfast, and come hell or high water, there would be food on the table when the rest of the crew woke up. Glancing at the breakfast menu for the week, Sanji couldn’t hold back a smile at Luffy’s messy handwriting scrawled next to the current day. _ Pancakes it is, _he thought to himself as he pulled out the ingredients for the batter. 

A trained chef, Sanji moved through the motions without a second thought. Until he just… didn’t. Sanji paused, egg in hand, and looked down at the bowl before him. Strange, he couldn’t seem to remember what he had already put in. He could see a single egg sliding around, but when he glanced at the counter, he couldn’t see the eggshell anywhere. Had he already cleaned it up? 

He needed to put the other egg in. He knew that much. But Sanji didn’t move, just kept staring at the bowl. He was transfixed, mind muddled by fever and exhaustion. So out of it was he that Sanji, despite his exceptional mastery of observation haki, didn’t notice someone enter the kitchen.

“Sanji…?” A timid voice asked quietly, as though trying not to startle him. The attempt failed, as the egg slipped from Sanji’s grasp and hit the floor with an audible _ crack _. Baffled, Sanji broke from his trance to look down at the small puddle of egg on the floor, and then to Usopp in the doorway. He opened his mouth like he had something to say, but nothing came. 

At some point Usopp had approached him, concern plain on his face. Sanji blinked and suddenly he was in a chair, and the bowl wasn’t in front of him anymore. Usopp was saying something to him, but he hadn’t been listening. “What?” he asked, but his speech felt weirdly slurred. Huh.

“I asked if you were feeling alright,” Usopp repeated, eyebrows drawn together in concern. “You seem really out of it, dude. You were just staring at that bowl for like, three minutes before I said anything.”

Sanji wasn’t sure what to say. If he was in his right mind, he would have leaned away when Usopp raised the back of his hand to Sanji’s forehead. Instead, Sanji unconsciously leaned into the cool touch, despite Usopp’s initial reaction of trying to pull his hand back.

“Shit, Sanji,” he hissed, leaning Sanji back up in his chair so he didn’t topple over, “you’re burning up.”

“I dropped the egg,” Sanji said, focused on the wasted egg spreading over the floor. He should really clean that up. Why did he have that in the first place? 

Usopp’s frown deepened. “I know,” he replied, turning around to glance at the doorway. He put his hands on his friend’s shoulders and planted him firmly in the chair. “I’m gonna go get Chopper, okay? Stay here.” He hurried out of the room, leaving Sanji alone with his confusion.

Sanji let himself sink into the chair, exhaustion overtaking him. He wanted to go back to sleep, but he had to make breakfast. Something caught his eye.

Why was there an egg on the floor?


	4. Human Shield

There were few things Zoro hated more than being alone with Sanji. The blond was rude, condescending, not to mention a lovestruck idiot who couldn’t hold his own as soon as a woman was involved— Zoro honestly couldn’t stand him. And somehow, he had gotten stuck combing this section of the jungle with the obnoxious cook. Nami owed him a solid cut of this treasure, if it actually existed. 

Zoro cursed loudly as he crashed to the ground, a sudden weight on his back forcing him down. He twisted his head around and spotted a flash of blond hair, and his frustration reached a breaking point.

“The hell was that for, curly brow?” Zoro growled, sitting up and shoving his rival off his back. “Did you trip over your own feet or something?”

Sanji just laid on his back, hair covering his face as he breathed heavy. “Dumbass,” he hissed, voice clipped. “You left your back wide open.” 

Zoro opened his mouth to ask what the hell he meant by that, when he noticed a dark color staining the back of Sanji’s light blue dress shirt— or at least what Zoro could see of it. With things finally clicking into place in his mind, Zoro flipped Sanji over, garnering protest from the immobilized man. 

“Shit,” Zoro breathed out, examining the damage. The bullet looked as though it had decidedly missed Sanji’s spine, and they were both unspeakably thankful for that. It had buried itself into the cook, though Zoro couldn’t tell how deeply. Blood was slowly turning the fabric dark and sticky as it crept outwards from the wound. “Why the hell did you do that?” 

Cheek pressed into the dirt, Sanji gave a shaky laugh. “Swords...swordsman’s shame… and all that…” he muttered, pauses growing longer with time. “Hurts like a bitch though…”

Moving past his initial shock, Zoro was coming back around to anger. He pulled them both behind cover, should the sniper fire again, before launching into a lecture. “You could have fucked up your spine, idiot!” Zoro nearly shouted, struggling to keep his voice down. “Did you think I couldn’t handle it? I could have blocked it!” 

Sanji just rolled his eyes, not that Zoro could see. Not much ever went through Sanji’s head when he blocked a hit for one of his crewmates; his body always just moved on its own. Even for someone like Zoro, Sanji thought of it as his duty to take the hits he didn’t think they could avoid. It was just what he did.

“I’ll go take care of this bastard so we can go back to the ship,” Zoro growled, voice dripping with annoyance. He peered around the wide trunk of the tree, spotting a glint in the semi-distant bushes. His hand went to the hilt of his sword as he prepared to launch himself towards the assassin. He spared a final glance at Sanji and scowled.

“Don’t bleed out and die before I get you to Chopper.”

“Fuck you.”


	5. Gunpoint

Sanji froze. Cold steel was pressed into the back of his head, a distinct click resounding. Sanji cursed himself for not noticing the assassin sneak up on him; they must be especially good at concealing their presence, as little got past Sanji’s observation haki. 

“Do you remember Cozia?” the man asked with an unsettling calm, not moving the gun an inch.

Of course Sanji remembered Cozia. It was the island on which he had boarded the Orbit and finally escaped the torment of Germa; he left his life and name as a Vinsmoke back on Cozia. But Sanji said nothing, choosing to remain still and silent.

“You Vinsmokes massacred almost everyone,” he continued, his voice starting to waver slightly. “I managed to get out, but— my family, they—  _ how could you?  _ You people wipe out whole nations and for what? A few hundred beri? Don’t you have any  _ humanity!? _ ”

_ Most of them don’t, actually,  _ Sanji thought to himself, but didn’t think the man would appreciate the irony as much as he did. He considered telling the man that he was only eight years old when Cozia was attacked, that he was locked up in a dungeon for most of it, but he probably didn’t want to hear excuses. Sanji wished the Marines hadn’t tacked that shitty name to the end of his wanted poster, but the Marines never seemed to do what he wanted. Bastards.

This time, the man was clearly waiting for some kind of response, so Sanji just sighed. “Sorry to disappoint you,” Sanji said, and he would have shrugged if he wasn’t trying to remain still, “but I think you and I feel the same way about those assholes.”

Sanji felt the man draw back slightly in confusion, and he took advantage of the window of opportunity. He dropped down and kicked the man’s legs out from under him, causing him to drop the gun. Sanji kicked the gun away, where it skidded over a nearby cliff and into some bushes. 

A silence settled over the two of them, and Sanji spared a glance at the man on the ground. He looked terrified of Sanji, scuttling backwards on the ground away from him. Sanji pulled out a cigarette and lit it up, taking a long drag.

“If you pulled this on a real Vinsmoke, you’d already be dead,” Sanji reprimanded, shaking his head. “They’re not worth it, anyway. You wouldn’t get any satisfaction from killing them. Trust me.”

When Sanji returned to the Sunny, he didn’t speak to anyone. He locked himself in the kitchen and did the only thing that truly reminded him of his real family: he cooked.


	6. Dragged Away

Zeff wheezed as a sudden weight on his chest pulled him from his much needed sleep. In his surprise, he accidentally knocked a tray off his bedside table, which clattered loudly to the floor. The noise caused the small shape on top of him to tremble and grip his blanket tighter in its small hands.

Slowly and with a lot of effort, Zeff moved his hand to gently rest on top of the unruly head of brittle blond hair. “Little Eggplant,” Zeff said hoarsely, both from sleep and the fact that they were only a week into their recovery. When he got no response from the quivering lump, Zeff opened his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by a nurse throwing the door open.

“I heard a crash, is everything alright?” he asked, surveying the room for any sign of distress from the bedridden man. When he spotted the small boy on Zeff’s chest, his worry shifted to a concerned frown. 

“You shouldn’t be out of bed, Sanji,” the man said quietly, approaching the bed. “Zeff needs his rest as well. Let’s get you back to your room, okay?” When Sanji made no sign of moving, the nurse sighed and carefully lifted the boy off of Zeff.

Sanji's sobbing was immediate as he was dragged away from Zeff. He tried to keep his hold on Zeff’s blanket, but it slipped from his trembling fingers. Zeff could see him attempting to twist free from the nurse’s hold, but he didn’t have enough strength in his malnourished body to fight. The child was babbling, incomprehensible through his tears and gasps.

Zeff forced himself to sit up and reached a hand out. “Wait,” he called raggedly, just as the nurse had managed to carry the boy to the doorway. Zeff scooted over as much as he could on the narrow infirmary bed, pulling the blanket back. “Bring him back over here.”

The nurse looked like he wanted to protest, but a single glare from the former pirate captain shut him up. He placed the boy beside Zeff, and as soon as he was released, Sanji clung tight to the older man like his life depended on it. The nurse silently excused himself from the room, giving the two some privacy.

“Why are you making a ruckus in the middle of the night, brat?” Zeff asked softly, with no anger in his voice. He slipped an arm around the child, letting the boy’s head rest on his upper arm.

Sanji sniffled, trying to calm himself down enough to speak. “I—,” he started, before being cut off by a sob. After a few more moments of composing himself, he continued. “I had a… bad dream. You were— you— you didn’t make it. When the ship came, you… you were already…”

_ Oh,  _ Zeff thought to himself in surprise. He still couldn’t quite understand why Sanji cared so much for him. If not for his attack on the Orbit, neither of them would have had to endure those eighty-five days of hell. And yet, after Sanji had raised that knife to him back on the rock, it had become near impossible to separate him from Zeff’s side. Maybe Zeff just didn’t understand kids.

“It’s alright, little Eggplant,” Zeff murmured, rubbing Sanji’s trembling back, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” Sanji leaned into the embrace, burying his face in Zeff’s side.

“Are you gonna make me go back?” Sanji mumbled, his too-thin frame feeling fragile against Zeff’s hand. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“You can stay,” Zeff said, and he didn’t have to say anything else. Sanji understood.


	7. Isolation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only important note for this one is its a slightly altered timeline from canon. imagine sanji got brought to germa like a week n a half before the wedding instead of like two days or whatever

“Sanji,” Judge sighed, a disapproving look on his face as he looked down on his wayward son. “It seems as though you were never able to learn discipline. Such a disappointment.”

Sanji shoved his hands in his pockets, glaring at the man he had once called his father. “Fuck you,” Sanji replied simply, flicking his still burning cigarette at Judge. Yonji surged forward to discipline Sanji for his impudence, but was stopped by Judge raising a hand.

“That’s enough,” he rumbled, gesturing to the guards posted by the door. “Take him to the dungeon.” When Sanji moved to protest, Judge narrowed his eyes. “You would do well to remember what’s at stake, boy.”

Burning with anger, Sanji allowed himself to be led down the winding staircase into the dark, cold, stone depths. He didn’t want to be here again. He would do  _ anything _ not to be here again. But if Zeff, or anyone on the Baratie for that matter, was hurt because of his selfishness… he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. 

So he stood, allowed his limbs to be shackled, allowed that god awful mask to encase his head again, allowed himself to be roughly shoved into the cell. Ankles shackled together, he fell to the cold stone floor as the door was slammed shut and locked behind him. Sanji made no move to push himself up from the floor until the footsteps of the guards had long faded. 

It was just as awful as it had been when he was eight. His eyes had yet to adjust to the overwhelming darkness; he had gotten too used to being in the light. The cold chilled him to the bone, and he wished he had the stupid cape to wrap around himself. Feeling around, he could tell the cell was empty; any of the tools and books he had been granted as a child had been cleared out. Damn. 

He sat up against the back wall, itching for a cigarette. It was taking every ounce of his strength to keep himself under control; this place brought back nothing but painful memories, and it was making him nauseous. The wedding was in ten days; that meant Judge couldn’t keep him here for more than nine days, right? He’d done six months as a child. He could deal with nine days.

He was wrong. He was  _ so  _ wrong. 

It was only day six— or maybe day seven? Sanji was having trouble keeping track— and Sanji already felt like he was losing it. The longer he was in this shithole, the more he felt himself reverting to the way he was as a child— despondent, terrified,  _ submissive _ . 

He hadn’t had any visits from his siblings, which he was both thankful for and strangely disheartened by. While he didn’t particularly want a visit from his brothers, which would have certainly consisted of a painful beating, or one from his sister, which would offer nothing more than empty apologies, he was desperate for human contact. Even food was delivered impersonally through a dumbwaiter. Sometimes he felt a phantasmal touch on his shoulder, the same way his crewmates always did. He wanted to feel it again.

Sanji cried, but only because he knew no one would see him. Judge and his idiot brothers wouldn’t get the satisfaction of knowing they got to him. They wouldn’t see him cry, nor would they hear him beg. The mask was heavy on his head, but he held it high. He wouldn’t let them break him.


	8. Stab Wound

A shout from Robin tore Sanji’s attention from the group of Marines he was fighting. A bullet had grazed her leg, nearly making her lose her balance before she sprouted several arms from the ground to support her. She was holding her own for the moment, but Sanji could tell her injuries were starting to catch up to her.

_ Time to get out of here, _ Sanji decided as he made a beeline for his crewmate. If the rest of the crew was here, there would be no issue; but with just the two of them, the sheer numbers of their enemy was overwhelming. He kicked his way through the swarm of Marines, focused only on getting to Robin.

He was barely aware of the feeling of a sword piercing him all the way through until the moment it was pulled out. His dash faltered as the searing pain hit him all at once. Glancing down, Sanji was glad to be wearing his suit, as the black fabric hid just how much he knew he was bleeding. He pivoted on his heel and blew the man with the sword away with a powerful kick, ignoring the pain in his chest for the time being.

As soon as he reached Robin, Sanji scooped her up in his arms and took off using Sky Walk, where the Marines wouldn’t be able to follow. Each midair kick pushed his limits further; the only thing keeping Sanji going was his obligation to get the woman in his arms to safety. Once they were a considerable distance away, Sanji landed them in a clearing, laying Robin down gently in the grass.

“Thank you for the quick thinking, Mister Cook,” Robin said, standing up carefully while keeping weight off her injured leg. She made her way over to Sanji, who was laying flat on the grass. “Now, please allow me to take a look at your wound.”

Sanji jerked in surprise as hands sprouted from the ground and started to unbutton his suit jacket. “It’s— I’m fine, really, don’t worry yourself over me,” Sanji yammered, trying and failing to sit up. “It was just a scratch.”

Robin’s dubious look shut him up. “The amount of blood staining my clothes after only our short trip makes me think otherwise,” she said calmly, gesturing to her side which had been pressed against Sanji’s chest. There was indeed a notable amount of blood, and Sanji was mortified.

“I’m so sorry, Robin-chwan!” Sanji cried in despair. “Please forgive me for getting my blood all over you!”

“Mister Cook,” Robin sighed in exasperation as her extra hands finally peeled off Sanji’s suit jacket and opened his shirt, allowing her to assess the damage, “your well-being is much more important than my clothing. This is a rather serious wound; we should hurry back to the ship.”

“Ah,” Sanji said, with none of his earlier exuberance. He supposed his earlier adrenaline must have fully left him at this point, because he found himself extremely tired. “I don’t think I can walk back.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Robin simply smiled. “Don’t worry about that. I have more than enough hands to carry you.”


	9. Shackled

Sanji yanked against his restraint, growling in frustration as he got nowhere. He had been at this for two days, and while the chains on his left wrist cuff and leg cuffs had quickly given in and snapped, the one on his right wrist cuff had persisted. For whatever reason, it was sturdier than the others.

Whoever had captured them had tossed him down here three days ago, and had not come to check on him since, so he had no fear of getting caught. His right wrist was red and raw from being rubbed against the cuff nonstop, but he couldn’t stop. Not when his crewmates— when _ Nami-swan _ has been captured as well.

The room he was being held in was… strange. There were various weapons scattered about, some even within range for Sanji to slide to himself and flip upwards into his free hand. Sanji vaguely wondered if they belonged to the skeletons keeping him company. He had tried hacking away at the chain, cuff, and wall restraint, but to no avail. Sanji was starting to get extremely frustrated with the whole situation. 

He slammed the back of his head against the stone, wishing his captors were here so he could curse them out. There was no telling if his friends were alright, and he couldn’t stand not knowing. Sanji felt _ helpless _, and that was wrong; he wasn’t supposed to be helpless. He was supposed to protect his friends. He—

A distant cry snapped him to attention. Sanji knew it all too well. _ Nami. _ His struggles increased tenfold, and he nearly cried out as it felt like his hand would tear off. 

Sanji froze, a sudden sense of clarity washing over him. He _ could _ help his friends. He _ had to _ help his friends. Sanji lifted one of the large, curved knives off the floor, trying not to dwell on the rust coating parts of it. He positioned it above the cuff, trying to convince his hand to stop shaking. 

There was nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice to save his crew.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I really like makin sanji lose his hand(s)


	10. Unconscious

Someone was yelling at him. Though his head was swimming and he felt like he was underwater, Sanji could tell that much at least. He wanted to tell them he was getting up, stop shouting, but he found he couldn’t do much of anything. How strange.

With what felt like an immense amount of effort, Sanji managed to pry his eyes open. He immediately regretted it, screwing them shut again as his head pounded in pain. Sanji already had a horrible headache, but the few seconds of light felt like a stab in the brain. The voice calling to him grew more frantic.

“...ji! Sanji! Can you hear me? Sanji!” they shouted relentlessly, and Sanji strived to focus on their voice rather than the pain. He knew… That was Nami. Dear, sweet Nami! The light of his life, the wind in his sails, the— wait. Why did she sound so upset?

He made another attempt to open his eyes, this time more slowly. He still cringed as the light made his head ache. “Light,” he groaned, turning his head to the side, “hurts.”

Nami seemed to get the picture, positioning herself over Sanji to block as much direct light as she could. Had he not been so out of it, Sanji would have certainly remarked on the somewhat suggestive position the two found themselves in. Instead he simply sighed in relief, opening his eyes a bit more and turning to face his companion.

“Wha’appened?” Sanji asked, his words slurring together. He wished they wouldn’t; he didn’t want Nami to hear him sound so undignified. 

Frowning, Nami pushed his hair back with a gentle hand. “Those guys we were fighting got something around your leg and pulled it out from under you. You hit your head pretty bad when you fell. I got us out of there with Mirage Tempo, but…” She chewed her bottom lip, not hiding her worry well. “Somewhere along the way you passed out, and I couldn’t get you to wake up.”

“Oh,” was all Sanji said, because this was all news to him. He didn’t even remember who they had been fighting.

“Yeah,” Nami breathed, her stress palpable. “I was… scared. Especially because I think you probably have a concussion, so I didn’t know…” 

Chopper had given the whole crew rundowns on the symptoms and dangers of concussions as they seemed to be a favorite injury among the more reckless Strawhats— and right now, Sanji was a textbook case. They both knew the dangers of letting it go unchecked.

“C’mon, I’ve gotta get you back to the ship,” Nami said, making a move to get up. “You should probably be in the infirmary bed, and I can’t carry you.” She extended a hand to help him up. “If you pass out again, I’m fining you a hundred million beri.” 

Sanji laughed as she pulled him to his feet, a lopsided smile on his face. “Aye-aye, Ma’am,” he replied, leaning heavily on her as the pair trudged their way back to the Sunny.


	11. Stitches

_ It was supposed to be a simple restocking stop, _Sanji groaned inwardly as he kicked another enemy pirate overboard. The other ship had pulled up out of nowhere, about an hour after the rest of the crew had disembarked to head for the town up in the forest. Sanji had stayed aboard the Merry because their food stock was fine, and he wanted to start prepping for dinner.

Up in the crow’s nest, Usopp was sniping the boarders left and right. He had chosen to stay as well, saying he had a bad feeling about the island and wanted to watch the ship. Now, Sanji was glad he had stayed behind with the timid sniper. If he had been here alone… Sanji didn’t want to think about it.

“Behind you!” Usopp shouted, and Sanji spun on his heel just in time to receive a considerable slash to his chest. He gasped, stumbling backwards. The man raised his sword to take advantage of the opening, but was hit in the face by one of Usopp’s Gunpowder Stars before he could swing again. 

The pirate dropped his sword, hands flying to his face as he yelled in pain. Recovering quickly, Sanji lunged forward and kicked the man over the railing. With the last of the enemies driven off, Sanji fell backwards on the deck, panting. He could hear Usopp calling his name as he scrambled down from his perch.

“Sanji, are you okay?” Usopp asked frantically, running over to the fallen cook. He skidded to a stop by Sanji’s side, hands hovering nervously as he tried to figure out what to do next. “Oh, that’s— that’s a lot of blood. Oh man.”

Hissing in pain, Sanji moved to unbutton his vest and shirt. Despite the gravity of the situation, Usopp blushed slightly and averted his eyes— Sanji would certainly have to ask him about that later. “Usopp,” Sanji snapped, drawing his attention back, “how bad is it?”

Paling, Usopp squatted down to examine the cut. “It’s… It looks pretty deep. There’s a lot of blood.” He looked nauseous, but he stayed by Sanji’s side. “W-what should I do?” 

“Get something to clean up the blood,” Sanji replied, tilting his head towards the infirmary door. “Grab the suture kit, too.”

Usopp was gone and back in an impressive amount of time, not wanting to make Sanji suffer for any longer than he had to. He wiped away the blood and disinfected the wound, apologizing as Sanji winced. 

“Alright, it’s clean,” Usopp said with a relieved sigh, putting down the cloth, “what now?”

“Open up the suture kit,” Sanji grunted. “It should have everything you need to close it up.”

Usopp nearly dropped the kit in surprise. “Y-you-you need _ me _ to give you s-stitches?!” he squeaked, looking at Sanji in terror. When Sanji nodded, his horror only grew. “I don’t— I’ve never, I mean, I don’t know _ how, _what if I mess up, oh god, what if—“

“Usopp!” Sanji nearly shouted, cutting off his babbling. “I need you to do this. There’s no telling when Chopper and the others will get back, and I really can’t do this myself.” Sanji had made an attempt to sit up, but the searing pain had quickly forced him back down. He wasn’t about to try stitching himself up laying down.

Usopp blinked at him owlishly, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay,” he whispered, more to himself than to Sanji. He opened the kit and started preparing the needle, forcing his shaky hands to steady as much as possible. “Of course the great Captain Usopp can fix you up!” he announced with his usual vigor, though Sanji could hear a slight tremble behind his words.

Sanji smiled, and wow, he was _ really _ tired. He felt like he was going to fall asleep, but he knew he absolutely shouldn’t do that. Of course he was a little afraid of not waking back up; but more than that, Sanji didn’t want to leave Usopp alone right now. He needed all the support he could get.

“I’m counting on you, Captain.”


	12. “Don’t Move”

Sanji sat in the plush chair, staring at nothing. His whole body hurt, fresh bruises blooming all over his pale skin. His brothers had been exceptionally relentless today, continuing to hit him long after he had stopped crying, which was when they usually grew bored. Sanji wasn’t even sure what he’d done to set them off today, besides exist.

A sudden stinging on his outstretched arm made him yelp and try to jerk his arm back. He couldn’t, however, as it was firmly in the grasp of another.

“Don’t move so much!” Reiju scolded, dabbing a cotton ball gently on one of his still bleeding cuts. Tears sprung to his eyes, but Sanji didn’t want to cry anymore, or make his older sister mad. He forced them down with a sniffle.

“Thanks,” Sanji said quietly, nearly too quiet to be heard. If Reiju heard him, she made no acknowledgement besides perhaps a minuscule pause. 

This was how things usually went between them; his brothers made a mess of him, and Reiju cleaned it up. However, her brand of treatment was vastly different from how their mother’s had been. Mom has always been kind and gentle, overflowing with care and concern as she gently pressed bandaids onto Sanji’s face. Reiju was… pragmatic. She cared enough to patch him up, but her desire to not be seen with him was so great that she prioritized efficiency over comfort. Sometimes her treatment hurt as bad as the beating. 

Reiju tied off the last bandage, perhaps a little too tightly. Sanji winced but gave her a wobbly smile of gratitude nonetheless. Normally she would leave at this point, but instead she just looked at him. Sanji squirmed under her scrutinizing gaze.

“What are you going to do?” Reiju asked, watching her brother’s face carefully. 

Sanji tipped his head to the side, not understanding. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Reiju sighed, “What’s your plan? Are you just going to stay here forever and get beat up for the rest of your life? We can’t do this forever, Sanji.”

“I—“ Sanji started, then stopped, realizing he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t have a plan. This was just… This was how life was. “I just want to cook,” Sanji said, his voice cracking on the last word.

Reiju’s face softened in a rare moment of unmasked compassion. “Sanji,” she said, clasping his hand with a gentleness that surprised him, “You know you didn’t do anything to deserve all this, right?” 

Sanji nodded, though it was more instinctual than understanding. He nodded when he was spoken to. He had learned that a long time ago.

She squeezed his hand tight before letting go. “I mean it,” she reaffirmed. “Get out of here.” With that, she stood and left the room, shutting the door behind her. Sanji was left alone to dwell on her words, pulling his knees up to his face. 

Could he really just…  _ leave? _


	13. Adrenaline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made no attempt to write Iva’s accent because that might make this borderline unreadable. Maybe one day. Just imagine it’s there

“I refuse.”

Sanji slammed his hands on the table, getting up from the chair he had been seated in. “Why?!” he asked angrily, “I already know about the risks and the after effects, and I can deal with them!” 

Clicking his nails on the table, Ivankov shook his head, his purple cloud of hair bouncing as he did. “No means no, Candy-boy,” he warned, his tone serious, but still oddly airy.

Sanji cursed, sitting back down. He tapped his foot impatiently on the floor, glaring at the kingdom’s ruler. “At least tell me  _ why,”  _ Sanji growled, not bothering to be polite. “I need this. My body is— I need to keep training, I need to get stronger, I need—“ 

“What you  _ need, _ ” Ivankov interjected, cutting Sanji off, “is rest. You’re pushing your body past its limits, Candy-boy. If I give you a shot of my Tension Hormone, it won’t do anything in the long run. When the adrenaline wears off, you’ll just feel worse. Not to mention, I have no obligation to help you.” He sighed, pointing a well-filed nail in the cook’s direction. “Frankly, I don’t care what you do. But I’m not going to help you kill yourself.”

Sanji pondered that for a moment. He supposed he had been running himself into the ground lately. Every time he considered resting, he thought of Sabaody, of being defeated by Kuma, sent flying across the ocean and far away from his captain. If he didn’t push himself, he feared he would never be strong enough the next time he faced someone like that.

“I…” Sanji struggled to verbalize what he was feeling. He didn’t exactly consider Ivankov a confidant, or even a friend, or really an acquaintance— but for some reason, Sanji felt he could talk to the eccentric man about this. Maybe it was just the loneliness of being stranded away from his crew. 

“You have two years, do you not?” Ivankov asked when Sanji failed to say anything. “That’s plenty of time to train. Don’t rush it.”

Wordlessly, Sanji nodded. He knew Ivankov was right, he just had trouble admitting it.

“Now, if you want an injection of Emporio Female Hormone, that can be arranged—“ 

“Fuck off.”


	14. Tear-Stained

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no excuse for this one it’s self indulgent

It was a beautiful day and Sanji was standing on the deck of the Going Merry, which was strange, because Merry’s funeral was years ago. He gazed out over the ship’s railing and saw only a long stretch of desert with the occasional cluster of buildings. The sun’s relentless assault made everything in the distance waver. So, it was Alabasta.

The lack of noise clued Sanji in to the fact that he was currently the only one on deck. Silence didn’t suit Merry; for as long as she had lived, Merry had been host to perhaps the most exuberant pirate crew in the Grand Line. He started to make his way to the kitchen, hoping to catch a glimpse of the place he had made so many memories, when he became aware of a presence behind him and stopped. 

Sanji didn’t want to turn around. He already had a feeling, a dreadful and anxiety-inducing feeling, that he knew who was there; it wouldn’t be the first time he had appeared in Sanji’s dreams. Despite his better judgement, Sanji turned, cursing himself for it.

Perched on the railing in much the same way he had been when they first met was Ace, tipping his hat back and smiling lazily. Sanji felt his heart leap into his throat and his stomach drop simultaneously. His crewmates often made fun of his ability to fall in and out of love so quickly. He never mentioned the person he _ couldn’t _fall out of love with.

Ace hopped down and walked his way, with his typical casual but self-assured gait. Sanji was frozen to the spot; maybe he wanted to run up and throw his arms around Ace, or maybe he wanted to throw himself overboard. He did neither.

Soon, Ace had closed the gap between them. Sanji stared at him, unmoving, full of feelings he didn’t want to be having. _ I’m taller now, _ Sanji mused. He still wasn’t quite as tall as Ace, but the two inches he had grown during those two years seemed to make all the difference at the moment. _ He probably would have grown too, if he hadn’t— _

Warm, gentle fingers on his jaw pulled Sanji out of his dangerous thoughts and back to Ace. The man’s fingers grazed over his goatee as he tipped Sanji’s chin up just a bit. Ace leaned forward, and Sanji knew what was coming next; it was the same every time. 

Their lips pressed together, and suddenly Sanji was truly back in Alabasta, back to the single kiss Ace had given him a few hours before he had returned to his search. Each time Ace appeared in his dreams, they had this kiss again, the same kiss that Sanji remembered in such detail. 

_ I wish I’d told him, _Sanji thought as Ace pulled away. He hadn’t realized just how hard he’d fallen for Ace until long after he had returned to sea. At the time, Sanji had resolved to tell Ace when he next saw him. If only he’d known that the next time he saw him would be in the newspaper announcing his passing. 

“Ace,” Sanji choked out, his voice thin and wobbly. “Ace, I—“

Sanji woke up with tears running down his face and staining his pillow. It was the same every time he dreamed of Ace.


	15. Scars

“This is great, Sanji!” Chopper exclaimed with a big smile, his bright eyes shining. The little doctor had just finished his weekly examination of Sanji’s injuries; even though the Sky Islands were long behind them— above them?— Sanji had sustained some pretty serious damage, and was taking a bit longer to recover than the rest of the crew had, save for maybe Luffy. “Everything’s looking great! I’d say you’ve made a full recovery!”

Sanji reached a hand down to pat the top of Chopper’s hat. “Only because I’ve got such a great doctor looking out for me,” he said with a gentle smile. Chopper pulled the brim of his hat down over his face in embarrassment.

“You dumbass!” Chopper squirmed, unable to contain his joy. “Hearing you say that doesn’t make me happy at all!”

The cook just grinned, though it was short lived. He was going to broach a subject neither of them wanted to talk about, but he had to know for sure. “So, uh,” he started awkwardly, getting Chopper’s attention back. “If my recovery is done, then the scars…”

Chopper’s change in demeanor was instantaneous. He regained the professional air he had about him during the examination, but he also seemed grave, like a doctor delivering the news that a patient didn’t make it. Chopper did always have an abundance of sympathy.

“They might fade over time, but I doubt they’ll ever completely disappear,” Chopper answered, looking at the floor. Tears threatened to spill from his shining eyes. “You just took so much electricity at once, you… It’s a miracle it didn’t kill you, Sanji. I’m sorry I can’t do anything about them…” 

Sanji’s stomach swirled with guilt at having upset Chopper. He wouldn’t have brought it up at all— Sanji was no stranger to scars, he had quite a few— except for, well, how _ noticeable _they were. Angry red lines covered a significant amount of his skin, turning and branching off much like lightning bolts or tree branches. Lichtenberg something-or-others, Chopper had explained. There was a good chance he had also explained why they looked like that, but Sanji had been distracted. 

It wasn’t easy for Sanji to admit that he was a self-conscious person. He could always excuse the excessive attention he put into his appearance by saying it was for the sake of getting beautiful women to give him the time of day— which, to an extent, it was. But the pressed suits, shined shoes, neat face— they were all parts of who he was, who he had become. And when he didn’t meet his own high standards, he didn’t feel like himself.

There was no way to entirely hide the scars. They crept up his neck, past the collar of his neatly ironed dress shirts. They branched out beyond the shelter of his suit sleeves, just barely marring his precious hands. Now, when people looked at him, Sanji was certain they were tracing scar lines with their eyes, wondering how far they spread beneath his clothing. Whispering and pointing, just like they did with his eyebrows. He despised it.

“It’s alright,” Sanji said softly, and even though it wasn’t, there was no point dragging Chopper down with him. The reindeer was an exceptional doctor; he shouldn’t feel like he had failed Sanji. “You did a great job, Chopper. Thanks for taking care of me.” He pushed himself up off the bed he had been seated on and smiled at his crewmate. “Want to come make a dessert with me?”

Chopper’s ears twitched and he looked up at Sanji in awe; the cook usually kept a policy of no dessert before dinner, but he would make exceptions for Nami, Robin, and sometimes Chopper. “Can I pick?” he asked, eyes bright and too adorable for Sanji to refuse.

“Sure, sure,” Sanji laughed, leading the way to the kitchen. He could worry about how he felt later; his crew came first.


	16. Pinned Down

Sanji coughed as he breathed in a lungful of dust. When the locals had said “ruins”, what they really meant to say was _ “maze”. _ Just past the entrance they had been presented with six different passageways; Nami and Usopp had paired off, as did Chopper and Brook, and the rest of the crew ventured down their own tunnels alone. A majority of the crew was opposed to spending their afternoon crawling through an ancient, mysterious, dusty labyrinth, but they knew as soon as the word “treasure” had come up there was no changing Nami’s mind. 

Sanji felt as though he had been in here for hours. The lack of any sort of windows in the tunnel system made it nearly pitch black, so he relied on the glow of his lighter to guide him. He had set a slow pace to avoid triggering any _ more _ traps. And boy, were there a lot of traps. Pressure plates, tripwires, hidden switches— the whole place was loaded with the most predictable arsenal of traps Sanji had ever seen. He half expected a huge boulder to start rolling after him at any time.

If only he had some sort of map, Sanji would at least know how much further he’d be walking. Sighing, he trudged onward, treading carefully. Clearly not carefully enough, however, as he felt a completely inconspicuous stone depress under the weight of his foot. Cursing, Sanji looked around for the source of the new rumbling sound. He tensed in anticipation, but he didn’t see anything coming, _ where the hell _ — a small pebble struck him on the head, prompting him to check the one place he seemed to have forgotten. _ Oh shit. _

Just as he looked up, a cascade of huge boulders began to fall from an opening in the ceiling. As a man who prided himself on his reflexes, Sanji was quick to jump away— only for his foot to catch on a tripwire he hadn’t noticed in the confusion. Surprised, Sanji fell flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him as he struggled to recover in time. He just needed to get up, or push himself a few feet back, that was all—

By the time the rocks fell to the ground, Sanji had managed neither. He cried out as his legs were crushed under the weight of the massive stones; luckily, he had managed to jump far enough back not to be entirely crushed, but this situation was far from optimal. Everything below his chest was solidly pinned and in terrible pain. Squirming got him nowhere, as did trying to move the rocks with his hands; in this position, he simply didn’t have the upper body strength. If he was going to get out, he needed help.

Forcing himself to calm down, Sanji drew in several deep breaths, thankful that his chest wasn’t experiencing the same weight as his lower body. It was difficult to concentrate on anything other than the pain, but he made an effort to clear his mind so that he could utilize his Observation Haki. 

Everything was a bit blurry at first, likely from both the waves of pain as well as the disorienting nature of this place that really seemed to throw Sanji off his game. With time the outlines began to steady and Sanji could make them out, and he was really beginning to comprehend how big this place was. Some of his friends were barely pinpricks of light, their tunnels having led them far, far away from his. Surveying his surroundings, Sanji felt panic start to gradually creep over him as he realized that _ none _of his crewmates were even remotely close to him. Even if they were, he wasn’t sure they would be able to hear him through the thick stone walls and layers of dirt.

He had no other choice but to wait for his crewmates to either come looking for him, or pass near him by chance. Sanji figured he shouldn’t waste his energy yelling now when no one would hear him, so he settled for occasionally checking in on everyone’s progress with his Haki. Eventually he grew fatigued and, against his will, slipped into unconsciousness.

Sanji wasn’t sure how long he was out for when he came too. He cursed himself for drifting off like that during such a dangerous situation— who was he, Zoro? Focusing back on his Haki, he found his crew in completely different positions; half of them seemed to be gathered at the entrance room, while most of the others had headed back to the Sunny. The only person missing was Franky; after a bit more searching, Sanji found him heading down the tunnel Sanji had chosen. The trapped cook sighed in relief— they were looking for him.

It wasn’t long before Sanji heard the telltale slap of Franky’s feet on the stone as he neared the site of the accident. “Cook-bro!” Franky called out, skidding to a halt next to the pile of rocks. “OW! That looks _ superrrr _ uncomfortable. Want some help?”

“Badly,” Sanji grunted, his voice strained. He was glad that Franky had been the one to retrieve him, as the ridiculously strong cyborg had no trouble lifting and tossing the heavy boulders as though they were sheets of paper. After Sanji had been freed, Franky very gently scooped him up in his arms and carried him bridal style, the way Sanji had seen the shipwright pick up Robin on occasion. Something about being carried like that made Sanji blush with embarrassment.

“This is kind of weird,” Sanji mumbled, not certain he enjoyed being held the way a princess in a fairy tale might be held.

“Eh? Is it my hands?” Franky shifted Sanji so that he was being cradled in one arm— which Sanji determined was decidedly more embarrassing— and held up his unoccupied palm, a smaller hand extending from the center. “I can use the little ones if that’s more comfortable.”

Sanji considered it for a moment. “That’s like, _ way _worse. Let’s just get out of this place.”

Franky grinned, flipping his sunglasses down over his eyes. “Can do, bro!”


	17. “Stay With Me”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ones not even remotely whumpy and honestly not very sad either I think they both just need a break
> 
> LINK TO SOME ABSOLUTELY LOVELY ART JESSE DID FOR THE SCENE AT THE END!!!!!  
https://cowboyzoro.tumblr.com/post/189382567662/just-a-wee-little-fanart-i-did-for-skypieas

Normally, Sanji would consider being on watch a dreadful job. Up in the crow’s nest, the chilly air rolling off the ocean bit into his skin, no matter how tightly he drew the blanket around himself. He always took last watch because he was an early riser, so at least he got a good view of the sunrise.

This time was different. Sanji wasn’t cold, because the man sleeping on his shoulder was a literal heater. Truthfully, he didn’t need the blanket; but with the way it was wrapped around the two of them, drawing them close, Sanji found he didn’t want to take it off. Ace’s gentle snoring filled the pre-dawn quiet, and Sanji wouldn't mind living in this moment forever.

Ace stirred, groaning and cuddling even closer to Sanji, who blushed in response. He sleepily opened one eye just a bit, grinning slightly as he caught sight of the red faced cook. “Mornin’,” Ace murmured, still leaning on Sanji. 

“Morning, asshole,” Sanji replied, but there was no malice with the insult. “If you got any drool on my shirt, you have to wash it.” 

Ace just laughed, clearly not taking the threat to heart. He stretched his legs as much as he could while still sitting, as he didn’t want to leave the comfort of the blanket— and possibly the comfort of being near Sanji. The smell of cigarette smoke clung to the two of them; Sanji tended to smoke quite a bit when he was on watch. 

“What time is it?” Ace asked, looking around at the dark skyline. “It’s not even morning? Why am I awake?” 

Sanji chuckled, lowering his cigarette and blowing out a stream of smoke. His breath puffed out into the cold air, mingling with the smoke. “You can go back to sleep, you know.” Ace was naturally gifted when it came to falling asleep on the spot.

“Nah, I’ll stay up,” Ace replied sleepily, pulling his knees up to his chest. He was still radiating a comfortable amount of heat, and Sanji unconsciously leaned against him, reversing their earlier position. “Sure you could use the company.”

Sanji said nothing to affirm the statement, but he also didn’t deny it. He stared out at the calm sea, tapping his cigarette against his knee absentmindedly. As someone who outwardly prided himself on his adoration for women, Sanji had been enjoying his time with Ace more than he’d care to admit.

In the midst of all the political drama and high stakes their adventure in Alabasta had brought, Sanji had found something totally unexpected; he was fairly sure that he was falling in love. And not with the beautiful princess who they had been traveling with for some time now, or his wonderful navigator who he would do anything for— no, Sanji loved them, but he didn’t  _ love _ them. They were his crewmates, and Sanji loved his crewmates— except maybe the moss ball— but with Ace, it was… different.

They sat in comfortable silence, simply enjoying the presence of the other, before Sanji decided to ask a question he knew would probably kill the mood. “So, you…” he started, a bit awkward, “You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?” It was less of a question and more of a way to acknowledge a certainty Sanji had tried not to think about, but Ace humored him with an answer nonetheless.

“Yep,” he said, nodding. “Since that lead turned out to be a dead end, there’s nothing more I can find about Teach here. I’ve gotta get back out there and find him myself.”

“Ah,” Sanji replied, and then snapped his mouth shut as though he wanted to say something else but decided against it. 

Ace was far too perceptive for that. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, strands of slightly curled black hair falling in front of his face as he turned to Sanji.

“It’s selfish,” Sanji mumbled, focusing on the barely glowing tip of his cigarette.

“You see how much of this blanket I’m hogging?” Ace asked, grinning and pulling a bit more of the blanket around himself for effect. “No rules against being selfish up here.”

Sanji couldn’t stop the smile that crept over his face at Ace’s antics, though it quickly faded as he prepared to speak. “I just...“ Sanji started, trying to figure out how to phrase his desires. “I wish you could stay—“  _ with me, please stay with me, “— _ aboard the Merry for a little while longer. I’ve never seen Luffy so happy, which is really saying something, since he’s almost always happy.” 

Ace laughed, a warm and rough sound. “If we’re being selfish,” he said, his hand moving to rest gently atop Sanji’s that was planted on the ground, “I would have asked you to come with me. But you’ve got an ocean to find, and I don’t think my brother would appreciate me stealing his crew away.”

Sanji couldn’t stop his blush as he brought his cigarette to his lips.  _ Ace wants me around too, _ Sanji thought, his ears burning. As he exhaled, he turned to look down at their hands. Ace’s hand was so warm. He didn’t want it to move.

“After you find him, will you come back and see me again?”

Ace blinked and then suddenly leaned away. Sanji shivered from the sudden lack of warmth, worried he had said something wrong. Suddenly there was something pressed onto his head, obscuring his vision. Sanji tipped the brim of Ace’s hat up and turned to look at the man, who was grinning. 

“Of course I’ll come back!” Ace exclaimed, drawing his hand back from the top of the hat. His smile was infectious, and Sanji felt himself start to smile back at him. “What kinda gentleman would I be if I ran out on someone like  _ you? _ ”

Sanji snorted, fiddling with the strings that hung from the hat. “I’m holding you to that. You better show up.”

“I’ll be there,” Ace promised, pressing a kiss onto Sanji’s cheek.

Sanji let himself believe that as gazed at Ace, completely missing the sunrise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> putting ur hat on someone dear to you in their time of distress runs in this family ok


	18. Muffled Scream

“We can’t alert the Marines,” Robin warned as she crouched next to Sanji, who had his back to the wall as he sat in the hallway, panting. They had managed to get this far undetected, and suppressed the single group that had spotted them quickly, but not without injury.

“I know,” he replied quietly, unable to keep the tremble out of his voice. “Just— Just do it. Please, dear Robin. I’ll be quiet.”

Robin gave him an apologetic smile. She crossed her arms, sprouting several pairs of arms around Sanji. Several held him still, while others gripped his dislocated shoulder and the surrounding area. “Don’t worry about the noise,” Robin assured him, leaning forward to cup one of his cheeks comfortingly. “I have measures in place for that.”

“Wh—“ Sanji didn’t have time to finish his question before Robin drew back and two more arms sprung out of the wall on either side of the head. The hands quickly slapped over his mouth at the same moment that Robin realigned his shoulder. Sanji was thankful for Robin’s quick thinking, as he couldn’t stop the noise of pain that tore from him as the bone was forced back into place. 

There was a tense moment where the pair waited to see if anyone had heard the muffled yell. When no Marines rounded the corner to shove guns in their faces, they exhaled in relief and allowed themselves to relax, though Sanji was still trembling a bit from the pain. He got to his feet, leaning against the wall for support.

“Thanks, Robin,” Sanji said, rubbing his shoulder. “I’m ready to keep going. I’ll try to keep my shoulder in the right place from here on out.”

“I believe that would be in our best interests, Mister Cook. You could quite possibly sustain permanent nerve damage in that arm. I wouldn’t like to have to help amputate it next time.”

“ _ Robin-chwan _ is so beautiful when she’s scary~!” Sanji exclaimed, perhaps a bit too loud, if the shouts and footsteps coming their way were any indication.


	19. Asphyxiation

Sanji had heard once that when something truly catastrophic was about to happen, time seemed to slow down. Now, he could all but confirm it. The tethered projectiles wrapped around his legs prevented the cook from keeping his balance as the marine shoved him hard in the chest with the butt of his rifle. Sanji gasped as he stumbled backwards, easily tipping over the railing.  _ Well, shit. _

He desperately attempted to grab onto the wood, but to no avail; he had missed his opportunity, and now he was falling into the ocean. Sanji had been so preoccupied with his situation that he hadn’t noticed if anyone else saw him go over; they were all wrapped up in their own conflicts, after all. If they didn’t, well… he tried not to think about it and focused on drawing in a big breath as he hit the water. 

The danger of the situation was immediately apparent. The weighted projectiles tying up his legs were dragging him down  _ fast _ . Pulling at them desperately, Sanji attempted to untangle the mess of wire that was preventing him from swimming to the surface. It was no use— they were wrapped tight, and he was getting further away from the surface with every second that passed. Sanji briefly wondered if this was what Luffy felt every time Sanji had come to rescue him, this sense of unease— the nagging  _ what if they don’t come for you this time _ that he couldn’t force from his thoughts. 

Sanji was out of air faster than he expected. He instinctively opened his mouth as he ran out, filling his lungs with seawater instead of the air his body demanded. Even as he panicked— as he  _ drowned _ , oh god, he was really drowning— Sanji still managed to admire the beauty of the sea that was currently killing him. In the edges of his vision, which were quickly turning black, he could see schools of silvery fish shining as they darted around. The way the light danced on the surface, which seemed just barely out of reach, was like something out of a painting.

For a brief moment, Sanji wondered if the All Blue really was a myth. Maybe it had originated from a sailor who had nearly drowned, and hallucinated all kinds of fish while he floated in the same position Sanji found himself in now. It certainly seemed possible. But Sanji couldn’t let himself wonder that, because if he wondered that, then he would lose his goal, and he couldn’t lose his goal. Zeff’s goal. The imprisoned Vinsmoke son’s goal.

He didn’t have to worry about wondering or not wondering anymore, because the darkness had nearly claimed him. The last thing he registered before he faded completely was a large shape swimming at him much too fast to be human. Then, nothing.

Sanji didn’t expect to wake back up. He didn’t expect to see Chopper leaning over him in his Heavy Point, or to hear a cacophony of voices urging him back to consciousness, or to feel as fucking  _ terrible _ as he felt. His lungs burned and his chest ached and his mouth tasted like seawater. He felt like absolute shit all around. But he was  _ alive _ . 

His head was turned to the side, chest heaving as could finally breathe. His cheek was in a puddle of water, and it vaguely occurred to him that some of this water was probably previously inside his lungs. It was a lot of water. 

A few feet away, sitting cross-legged and wringing out his sopping wet clothes, Sanji spotted Jinbei. The newest straw-hat seemed to notice Sanji’s gaze as he lifted his head and their eyes met. Jinbei gave a small smile before he returned to his work. Sanji made a mental note to make Jinbe’s favorite food for dinner tonight before he passed out again.


	20. Trembling

“I don’t know how you can be in such high spirits,” Sanji muttered, shoving his gloved hands into the pockets of his heavy coat. Sanji didn’t dislike winter islands or cold weather, per say, but they had been wandering around in the snow for what felt like hours and Sanji was convinced his hands would fall off from frostbite if he was out here much longer.

“Yohohoho!” Brook laughed, leading the way with a spring in his step. “My  _ spirit _ is all I have left! Because I’m all bones!” He paused and turned back to Sanji, clearly hoping for a reaction to the joke. Sanji wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. The cook just rolled his eyes and trudged onwards.

“Do you, like… Can you feel it? The cold, I mean,” Sanji asked, genuinely curious. The skeletal musician had not been a part of their crew for very long, and many aspects of him were still shrouded in mystery. Sanji was still kind of surprised that he could eat. 

“Yes, it chills me to the  _ bone _ ,” Brook replied, and Sanji was beginning to wonder if he was capable of holding a conversation with the man without wanting to kill him. Perhaps sensing Sanji’s murderous intent, Brook continued. “I can indeed feel cold, just as I can feel heat. However, I don’t believe that it can do any serious damage to me, as I have no organs to be shut down. At worst, these conditions are uncomfortable.”

“Huh,” Sanji said, not really sure how to respond to that strange information. As the two continued on, making occasional idle chatter, Sanji was starting to realize two very alarming things: the pair appeared to be lost, and Sanji was very,  _ very _ cold. The shiver that had been plaguing him for a while now had turned into a full-body, uncontrollable tremble, and he couldn’t stop his teeth from chattering. Unaware of the rock hidden under the layer of snow, Sanji tripped, hands and knees sinking into the blanket of white.

Hearing the resulting crunch, Brook turned and made his way over to Sanji, who had fallen behind considerably. “Sanji? Are you alright?” he asked, concern in his voice. The lanky man had to crouch comically far to reach Sanji’s level down on the ground.

Sanji only shook in response, desperately trying to pull himself together. “Jus’... ‘m fine. ‘s cold. Gimme a minute.” He tried to push himself to his feet, but to no avail. Falling back into the snow, Sanji laid on his side, grimacing in discomfort as he could feel melting snow soaking through parts of his clothes. “...’m tired.”

To Brook’s credit, he immediately sensed the gravity of the situation. Pulling Sanji to his feet, Brook removed his own coat and layered it atop Sanji’s. He forged ahead, supporting most of the cook’s weight; if they couldn’t find their way back, then they needed to find shelter. After a short while, Brook spotted an opening on the side of the cliff and pulled Sanji in, leaning his back up against the wall of the cave. 

Luckily, starting a fire was not difficult, as they had Sanji’s lighter and plenty of material they could burn. With time and warmth and protection from the elements, Sanji eventually came around. He wasn’t completely out of danger— Brook wouldn’t be able to say that with certainty until he was back on the Sunny— but he was lucid again, and his trembling had subdued significantly. The two sat in relative silence around the small fire.

“Sorry you had to drag me here,” Sanji sighed, reaching for a cigarette. Brook had quickly discovered that Sanji was not the kind of person who ever asked his company if they minded when he smoked. Brook didn’t mind, so he never objected. The smell of cigarette smoke was starting to become a comforting fixture of the Sunny to him.

“Ah, I should be the one apologizing,” Brook replied, turning his hat over in his hands. “I suppose I’ve forgotten the dangers of the cold, and I set our pace much too quickly simply because I am immune to it.”

Sanji looked like he wanted to say something, probably shifting the blame back to himself, but Brook continued before he could. “You really must express your suffering, Sanji. I may be new to this crew, but even I can tell how deeply everyone cares for each other. So the next time you are in pain, you must tell someone, and make no  _ bones _ about it!”

They both understood that Brook was speaking much more broadly than just the situation they found themselves in now. Not particularly in the mood for a heart-to-heart, Sanji exhaled a lungful of smoke and scowled. “Cool it with the skeleton puns, or I’ll go back out there and die for real.” 

“Yohoho! Please don’t, Sanji!”


	21. Laced Drink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ones like. pre timeskip probably. And it’s weird. Sorry

_ This island is weird, _ Sanji thought to himself as he sat at the bar, picking at the food he had ordered. He couldn’t be sure what it was, there was just something… _ off _. The way pirates galavanted around openly, with not a marine in sight, but always seemed in a hurry to leave— not to mention, all the conversations with the locals had felt strange. Sanji didn’t much like it.

With the log pose taking two days to reset, they had no choice but to dock here. The crew had split off to do their own things, shopping or poking around. Sanji had finished restocking the pantry earlier in the day, so he had set to wandering and, with any luck, finding some good food. 

He wasn’t certain how he’d ended up at this bar, but when the beautiful bartender waved him in, he had no intention of turning her down. Not a huge drinker, Sanji had opted to order a small plate of food, which he was currently working at. It was nothing exceptional, nor was it awful; in his opinion as a chef, it was average. Though there was some ingredient in it that Sanji couldn’t quite identify, and it threatened to ruin the whole dish. Maybe he should ask to speak to the chef later.

Besides him, there were only a few other people in the bar. There were two men— probably pirates, by the looks of it— playing some card game against each other, their voices occasionally rising when one side lost a considerable sum of money to the other. At a table behind him was a group of three lovely women, who would wink and blow him kisses whenever their eyes met. Sanji felt like he would faint every time. 

In the corner was a man with his feet up on the table, and Sanji had half a mind to go over and give him a lesson on table manners. He was speaking quietly into a transponder snail, his words hidden by the other chatter in the room. Sanji hoped he wasn’t an undercover marine or anything, as the Sunny was stuck here for another day at the least. 

“Here, hun,” the sweet voice of the bartender drew Sanji’s attention away from the strange crowd. She slid a drink his way, and Sanji caught it with ease. “A gift from the ladies over there,” She said, tilting her head towards the table of flirty women. 

Holding the drink in his hand, Sanji spun on his barstool to face the women, infatuation radiating off him in waves. Just as he was about to launch into his declaration of adoration, someone hopped up onto the stool next to him, throwing an arm around his shoulder.

“Hey, I didn’t even recognize you, it’s been forever! How’s it going?” The suspicious man from the corner table asked, jostling Sanji in a much too friendly way. The movement caused about half the drink to spill onto Sanji’s shirt, soaking him thoroughly. The women giggled and Sanji turned beet red, turning to face the man.

“What the _ hell _—“ he started, but what quickly cut off by the stranger, who was reaching into his coat pocket.

“My bad, my bad. I’ll clean it up,” he said, though he didn’t sound very apologetic. He pulled out a handkerchief and leaned forward to dab at the stain. Once he was close enough, he whispered quietly, “Don’t drink that unless you like poison, Black Leg.”

Sanji stiffened, now on alert. He could feel the bartender’s eyes on him, as well as all the women, so he forced himself back into a relaxed posture. If the women wanted him dead or incapacitated, Sanji needed to find a good way out— when it came down to it, he wouldn’t be able to fight them. Grabbing the man’s wrist, he just had to hope he would understand his plan.

“You think I’m just going to accept that shitty apology?” Sanji sneered, eye narrowed. His performance was convincing; being pissed off came naturally to him. “Let’s take this outside, asshole.” 

The stranger looked up at him, and Sanji got a good look at his face under the brim of his hat for the first time. Now Sanji was _ sure _ he had never met him before; he certainly would have remembered such a big scar across the man’s face. 

The man’s wide-eyed expression changed into one of determination. “Fine by me,” he said, grinning, as he reached behind him for the long pipe strapped to his back. Either he hadn’t gotten the clue, or his acting was _ way _too good, because Sanji was near certain that he was about to be brained with said pipe.

But he simply hopped off his stool and headed for the door, wordlessly inviting the cook to follow. Sanji did the same, quickly finishing the rest of his dish and slapping a tip down before hopping to the ground. He shoved his hands into his pockets and fixed his glare on the other man’s back. The women watched him go but made no move to follow.

Once outside, the pair continued a safe distance away before they stopped in the middle of the empty street. Sanji leaned against a building and glanced back towards the bar, and sure enough, no one was following. “Did those lovely ladies _ really _ poison my drink?” Sanji asked, turning his suspicious glare to his companion. “If you spilled a drink all over me for no reason—“

“They’re a pirate hunting group,” He interjected, and Sanji was beginning to realize that interrupting people was probably a normal thing for him. “_ Somehow, _they must have recognized your poster and were after your bounty.”

Sanji’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance at the mention of his wanted poster, but he pushed that aside for the moment. “Why didn’t they come after me?” 

“Since they tend to go after strong targets, they rely on poisons and drugs to incapacitate or weaken their target first. Then they knock them out or kill them, and hand them over to the Marines,” the stranger explained, his tone neutral. “Easy money, I suppose.”

“Oh,” said Sanji, as he realized how bad the situation could have broken. “Look, I appreciate you pulling me out of there, but I have to ask… Why did you save me?” Sanji asked. He had been wondering since the moment the man had first told him the drink was poisoned. “Don’t expect anything in return.”

For the first time that night, the question appeared to genuinely stump the stranger. His brow furrowed and he frowned, trying to figure it out himself. If he gave an answer, however, Sanji didn’t hear it; all he could focus on was the awful, dangerous sensation curling in his stomach.

“Hey,” Sanji said slowly, curling in on himself a bit, “do you think… the food was poisoned too?”

If the man responded to that, Sanji missed it as well, because he fell face-first into the cobblestone street.

* * *

When Sanji awoke, it was in the Sunny’s infirmary. Chopper, who was grinding medicine at his desk, noticed Sanji’s movement and rolled his chair over to his bedside.

“Sanji! I was so worried!” the little doctor exclaimed, sounding relieved. “The poison should be mostly out of your system by now. Please be more careful!”

Sanji apologized, promising not to eat anything poisoned if he could help it. Struck by a sudden realization, he sat up straight. “Wait,” he said, confused, “how did I get back to the Sunny?”

Chopper tried to coax him back into laying down before answering. “Some guy we’d never seen before carried you back,” Chopper replied. “Only Usopp, Franky, and I had come back to the ship by then. He said you had been poisoned and then just… left.” He looked up at Sanji with wide eyes. “Who was he? Do you know him?”

Sanji sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Kind of? I never got his name, but he did save me from being considerably _ more _ poisoned, so I appreciate that.” Sanji shook his head. The whole situation was strange. He looked to bedside and noticed his shirt, washed and folded, but there was something else on top.

“What’s that?” Sanji asked, reaching for the small square of cloth. 

“Oh, we washed your shirt and your handkerchief.” Chopper answered, rolling back over to his desk to resume his work.

_ My handkerchief? _ Sanji thought, unfolding the square. It was the same one the man had used to dab at his shirt back in the bar. In the corner, a small “ _ S _” was embroidered in golden thread; that explained why they assumed it was his. 

_ What a weird guy,_ Sanji mused, tucking the item into his pocket as he redressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mel wanted sabo so here’s sabo


	22. Hallucination

The sun beat down relentlessly on the tiny rock in the middle of the sea. Sanji curled in on himself, absolutely despondent. It had been over two weeks since his food ran out, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on. His clothes hung off his stick-thin frame, and every inch of exposed skin was terribly sunburned; there was nowhere to hide from the sun on the flat outcrop. 

Sanji would have cried, if he had anything in him to cry. He couldn’t understand why this was happening. Finally,  _ finally  _ he had gotten away from Germa, away from his family, away from the abuse. Finally he had started his journey to being a cook, and maybe, finding the All Blue. And suddenly that had all been ripped from him; he felt the same way he had felt at his mother’s funeral. Hopeless.  _ Alone. _

He laid down, fixing his gaze on the ocean before him; if a ship did pass, Sanji would never forgive himself for missing it, and he was certain his companion wouldn’t either. Despite everything, Sanji still loved the ocean. Even if it killed him, Sanji would love it; it was freedom, and everything he so desperately wanted in life. At the very least, he’d much rather die in the middle of the ocean than live as a prisoner. 

As he stared out, Sanji began to realize that there was  _ something _ there. He immediately became more alert, focusing his eyes and praying for a ship. Anything to get them off this rock.

It… wasn’t a ship, Sanji realized. It was figure, standing out above the water in a way a person shouldn’t be able to. Sanji’s visible eye widened when he recognized the figure.

“Mom…?” Sanji whispered hoarsely, disbelieving. He forced himself up, though it was difficult. She was closer now, and he was sure; though it had been years since her passing, Sanji would never forget his mother’s face. She was smiling brightly, serenely, in the way she always had during Sanji’s visits. The sight filled him with a comfort he hadn’t felt in many weeks.

“Mom!” Sanji cried a bit louder, struggling to his feet. His legs trembled underneath his weight, despite how little of it there was. Taking a few shaky steps forward, Sanji stretched out his arms. She was so close, so close he could nearly touch her. He was almost there.

A hand grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him away from the edge, tossing him roughly back onto the rock. Sanji cried out in surprise as the sharp surface scraped his elbow. He cradled it and turned to look at Zeff, wide-eyed and afraid. 

“What the hell were you about to do, you idiot?” Zeff shouted, and suddenly Sanji was reminded that he was, indeed, stranded with a bountied pirate captain. Even though Zeff couldn’t walk at the moment, and even though he had given Sanji all the food, he was still plenty intimidating. “Did you give up on being rescued? Decided to throw yourself into the ocean instead?”

Sanji shook his head, peering around Zeff frantically to look at where his mother had been. There was nothing but an endless expanse of sea. “She…” Sanji started, voice shaking as he crawled closer. “She was… she was right there… I…” He looked out desperately, willing his mother to come back. 

Zeff turned and followed his gaze. A moment passed between them before he turned back with a heavy sigh. The anger seemed to have left him, leaving him only with the same frustration at their situation he had had since the first day. “Whatever you saw, brat,” Zeff said, sounding tired, “it wasn’t real. Not worth killing yourself over.”

Sanji stared out for a moment longer before he looked down, nodding. He noticed a trail of blood and followed it to Zeff, realizing the man’s hands were bleeding. Sanji’s stomach dropped when he realized Zeff had gotten hurt dragging himself over to catch Sanji in time. There was something Sanji felt he should say about it, but it didn’t come to him. 

Grumbling, Zeff pulled himself back to his lookout spot. Sanji would have offered to help him, but he knew the other would take offense to the implication that he needed help. Sanji returned to his spot as well, and their routine resumed as usual. Don’t move. Watch for ships. Starve.

Sanji didn’t hallucinate again.


	23. Bleeding Out

Sanji wasn’t quite sure how things had gotten this bad. It really felt like they might have had it under control for a bit; but now, Zeff was on the deck, his peg leg broken, with a gun shoved up behind him. Sanji was frozen to the spot, trying to figure out his next move.

“His life, or this ship,” Gin growled, shoving Zeff with the shotgun for emphasis. It was an impossible choice, because Sanji knew he had to protect both. His leg raised, Sanji dashed towards Gin, prepared to kick the shotgun away from him and get Zeff out of harm’s way.

Gin didn’t seem to expect this response, stepping backwards in confusion and pointing the gun defensively at Sanji. His hands shook as he realized that he was losing control over the situation. “Don’t—“ Gin shouted, but Sanji was already there, about to strike him, and—

Sanji halted in his charge and stumbled back. Gin just stared at him, pale and wide-eyed, as the gun fell from his grip and clattered onto the deck. “I…” Gin said, his voice meek, “I didn’t…”

The deathly silence that had settled over the battlefield after the shot rang out suddenly vanished, erupting into cacophonous chaos. Sanji wasn’t particularly aware of any of it; he was focused only on the way his hand stained red when he pulled it away from the hole in his stomach. 

He could feel hands on him as the Baratie’s chefs rushed into action, no longer restrained by the threat to Zeff’s life. They caught Sanji as he fell, several strong arms supporting him. Patty was asking him something, but Sanji couldn’t process his words, let alone even speak. 

As they dragged him back inside to relative safety, Sanji could see fights breaking out all over the deck. Scanning the battlefield, he locked eyes with the strange rubber chore boy. He was fixing the injured cook with a strange, intense look, before he turned back and launched himself at the invading pirates. Sanji wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

Sanji was laid gently on the ground as footsteps pounded around him. The staff of the Baratie was shouting about rags and water and first-aid kits. Sanji understood it was probably for him when he noticed the amount of blood seeping out of his wound, staining his clothes and pooling around him slowly. He wanted to yell at them for dragging him into the kitchen of all places; if he was going to bleed out, he should do it somewhere else. 

Time passed oddly, with Sanji finding himself out cold more often than he was awake. Eventually, he heard someone say that he probably wasn’t going to die anymore, and he breathed out a sigh of relief. That was something, at least. He wanted to ask what the deal with Krieg was, if Zeff was alright, how the rubber guy was doing— but he was too tired for that now. He could deal with it later.


	24. Secret Injury

Sanji winced as he pulled up his shirt to assess the damage. The wound was _ definitely _ infected; Sanji was no medical expert, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to be that color. It hurt like hell, so Sanji had taken to wearing loose fitting shirts to avoid irritating it. He rewrapped the bandages around his chest— also probably a bad idea, Sanji acknowledged— and pulled his shirt back down, staring at himself in the mirror.

He knew he should tell Chopper, he really did. Chopper had told him that if anything looked weird he should come to the infirmary right away and get it checked out. But after their scuffle with the Marines a few days ago, when Sanji had received the injury, Chopper had made an announcement that the crew was dangerously low on medical supplies and needed to make a stop at the next inhabited island. 

_ A few more days _ , Sanji thought to himself, gripping the edges of the sink and leaning in, _ I just need to hold out until we restock. _ If someone else’s injuries worsened and Sanji had selfishly taken what little stock they had, he would never forgive himself. His grip tightened until his knuckles turned white.

A loud knocking at the door pulled Sanji out of his thoughts. “Oi, hurry the hell up,” Zoro’s muffled voice came through the door, and Sanji realized he’d probably been in the bathroom longer than he thought. That didn’t stop him from flipping Zoro off as he opened the door and pushed past him.

* * *

Much to his dismay, Sanji found himself suddenly sleeping odd hours. He was normally very strict in his schedule; he would sleep at midnight, and rise promptly at five, leaving himself plenty of time to start breakfast preparations before the rest of the crew gathered in the kitchen. Having a routine was important to him, and he enjoyed rising early.

Today he had awoken to Usopp shaking him, concern in his eyes. No one had ever seen Sanji sleep so late, unmoving in his bed long after every other resident of the men’s dorm had cleared out. Apparently Usopp had decided to check up on him on the off chance he was dead, or something. He wouldn’t leave until Sanji had thoroughly convinced him he was, in fact, alive.

Sanji was frankly mortified that it was _ ten _and no one had woken him up. He had to imagine that someone— Chopper, maybe?— had, for whatever reason, restrained Luffy from bursting in and shouting loudly about breakfast. He wished they hadn’t; even if he had had trouble sleeping the night before, he still would have liked to wake at five so he could fulfill his duties. 

Despite his lethargy, Sanji forced himself up. He supposed he would have to make up for missing breakfast with a stellar lunch.

* * *

It had been five days now, they still hadn’t come across an island, and Sanji was definitely getting worse. He was doing everything in his power to keep it together, but he could feel himself falling apart. Between the lethargy and nausea, Sanji was worried his injuries would soon majorly impede his ability to serve as both a cook and a fighter. At least no one seemed all that suspicious of him.

This morning, Sanji had thankfully awoken at his typical time. He had plenty of time to tidy up the kitchen before he had to start preparing for breakfast. By the time a few other members of the crew made their way to the kitchen, he had already started cooking. Laying down heaping plates onto the table, Sanji smiled as his friends let words of gratitude and praise fly his way; at least he could still cook.

That was the last thought Sanji had before he collapsed to the floor, surrounded by the panicked voices of his crew.

* * *

Sanji awoke in the infirmary. The curtains were drawn over the window, so he had no idea what the time was. He hoped he hadn’t slept through lunch— or worse, _ dinner _— and made a move to get out of the bed, but was stopped by a hand on his wrist. Not even realizing he had company, Sanji nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Chopper says you need to stay in bed,” a feminine voice said, and Sanji realized that Nami was the one gripping his wrist. He would have swooned if he hadn’t picked up on the strain in her voice, the exhaustion; something told him it wasn’t the time or place. 

“But…” Sanji protested, sitting up a bit, “I have to cook. Is it dark out? Did I miss lunch? You know the captain won’t forgive me if I’m sleeping when I should be making dinner.”

Nami was quiet as she released his wrist and sighed. In the darkness of the room, it was difficult to make out her expression. “Sanji, you’ve been here for two days,” Nami stated plainly. 

She paused, clearly expecting a response. Honestly, Sanji wasn’t sure how to handle the information. It was certainly longer than he expected, and he had all kinds of questions, like who was doing the cooking and had they found an island and _ oh god did someone turn off the stove _— but he couldn’t get any of that out. Instead, he replied with a lame “oh”.

Nami’s frustration with him seemed to grow, and her sigh was definitely an angry one this time. “Look, I know why you did it. You always do stuff like that— putting everyone else first. It’s just how you are, I get it, I do.” Sanji was surprised when he felt her hands clasp around one of his that was laying limply on the sheets. “But you need to know that _ you _ are important too, Sanji. If anything happened to you and we could have stopped it… I don’t know what we’d do. We came close to losing you this time. I can’t— I don’t want to do that again, okay? We’ve already had too many close calls on our journey.”

Sanji looked down at where their hands met. “I’m sorry, Nami. I… I did what I thought was best for the crew. I figured I could beat it myself, but I wasn’t strong enough.” 

Pulling her hands back, Nami hit him on the head with a fisted hand. “You dummy. How many times do we have to go through this before you realize that you don’t _ have _ to deal with stuff by yourself? That’s what being part of a crew is all about.”

Sanji smiled sheepishly, rubbing the top of his head. “Guess you’re right. Won’t happen again.” 

“I know that’s not true,” Nami said in exasperation. “You’re always going to put yourself last, even when you don’t need to.”

“Heh, guilty as charged.”


	25. Humiliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah this ones also acesan. Pretty much a sequel (kind of) to ch 17. Takes place not too long after the timeskip reunion

Sanji’s hands shook as he reached for another cigarette. He had burned through two already, the smoldering butts long since flicked into the choppy waters below. His grip was so weak and uncertain that he nearly dropped his lighter as he urgently lit his next smoke. It was one of _ those _ nights.

Nothing made Sanji happier than being with his crew again. The two years had been long and difficult, and he often struggled with suddenly being alone after all they’d been through. He would find himself preparing too much food for people who weren’t there. Being back on the Sunny, back with the people who made him feel so comfortable and whole, reaffirmed for the chef how much he needed to make sure he never left again. 

But even so, Sanji couldn’t pretend everything was fine— well, not when he was alone, anyway. When he was around his crewmates, Sanji did his best to be the man he was two years ago; the loyal, flirtatious, foul-mouthed chef Luffy had first invited to his crew. And while Sanji was certainly still all of those things— perhaps more so than before— there was also a part of himself he couldn’t let his friends see, all things considered; he was still grieving.

None of the other Straw Hats knew about the true nature of Sanji’s relationship to Ace. They had spent most of their time together in Alabasta sneaking around, as Sanji wasn’t quite ready to be publicly not-straight yet, so if anything the others probably just assumed they had hit it off as friends with how casual they became. Sanji wished that was all it had been.

The crew didn’t talk about Ace when Luffy was around; that was a steadfast rule. It was a touchy topic, and if Luffy wanted to talk about it— though that was yet to happen— he would be the one to bring it up. Unfortunately, Sanji was not afforded the same luxury. The rest of the crew assumed that their shared relationship to Ace varied from “never met the guy” to “sweet guy, but didn’t know him well”. There was no accounting for Sanji’s extremely complicated secret position of “fell very much in love with him and haven’t been quite the same since his death”. As such he was unwillingly included in the whispered conversations about Ace; he wanted nothing more than to run out of the room, but that would arouse too much suspicion. He was supposed to be fine.

Sanji was part of the Monster Trio. He had Haki now, he was stronger. He had trained for two years, day and night, to improve his abilities as a fighter and as a chef. Everyone else had trained relentlessly, too; they were all so much stronger, so prepared to move into their next adventure. For that reason, Sanji couldn’t allow himself to fall behind, no matter how he felt. It wasn’t an option.

There was another thing, too. Sanji couldn’t verbalize it, but he felt… selfish. No matter how he looked at it, he hadn’t gotten to spend very much time with Ace. For Sanji to mourn Ace alongside Luffy… Sanji felt that he hadn’t earned the right. Luffy lost his brother— what had Sanji lost? A man he had become far too infatuated with, who probably hadn’t even been as serious about it as Sanji had been. A man who Sanji hadn't even been there to save.

There were a million reasons why Sanji couldn’t cry over Ace. He had to be a pillar of strength for his crew. He had to do his job as a chef, without distraction. He had to keep the morale high. He had to support Luffy. He had to be _ okay. _Even when he wasn’t.

Feeling hollow, Sanji leaned hard against the ship's railing and hung his head, blowing out smoke. “He promised me he’d come back,” Sanji said miserably, maybe to the sea, maybe to no one at all. 

“He promised me he’d never die.” 

Sanji nearly tumbled over the railing in surprise, not expecting an answer. He caught himself and spun around, spotting Luffy perched on the railing surprisingly close to him. Sanji figured he must look like he was about to cry— or maybe he was already crying?— because his captain’s expression softened slightly. 

Suddenly aware of his state of being, Sanji turned away and covered his face, scrubbing at his eyes with his arm. Humiliation burned through him at being caught in a moment of weakness. “Sorry, I just— I just needed a smoke, I—“ 

A rubber hand clamping onto his shoulder made him flinch. “Sanji,” Luffy said, his voice serious. Previously, Luffy had only taken that tone in the most extreme circumstances, when someone had hurt his crew. Maybe it was only Sanji’s imagination, but it seemed more common now. Like his captain was growing up.

“I know you’re not happy, Sanji,” Luffy continued, even though Sanji was still turned away from him. “...and I know you miss Ace, too.” 

Sanji choked, finally turning back to face his captain. “How…?”

Despite the heavy tone of their conversation, Luffy grinned, bright as the sun. “I’m your captain, I’m supposed to notice stuff like that!” When Sanji’s gaze didn’t lose any of it’s scrutiny, Luffy turned his head with a sheepish smile. “Well, Ace might have mentioned it back in Alabasta…”

Sanji went beet-red and hid his face again, embarrassed anger coursing through him. At the very least, it was a welcome break from the misery he’d been feeling all night. “Oh my _ god _,” Sanji said, his voice muffled, “I told him not to tell anyone! That shithead—“ 

Luffy laughed, looping a rubber arm around the railing a few times as he nearly fell backwards into the sea. “Ace could never keep a secret from me, even when we were kids! Sometimes he’d try to hide snacks from me, but I always found them. Then he just stopped trying.”

Recovering enough to light another cigarette, Sanji sighed. “I guess it’s fine, because it’s you. Not like you treated me any different because of it.” Sanji paused, watching the waves slam against the ship’s hull; he had a question, but he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. “What… what exactly did he say? About me, I guess.” 

Luffy was quiet, and Sanji could tell they had shifted back into a more serious, more somber air. “He liked you a lot, Sanji,” Luffy answered, his voice even. “He was really glad he met you. I told him that if he needed a cook, he had to find his own, but he said he didn’t like you because you were a cook. He just liked you because you were Sanji.” 

Apparently that was Sanji’s limit, as he felt the dam break and everything come out. Tears ran down his face as he let himself actually _ feel _ all the things he had been shoving down for two years. Luffy sat by him, saying nothing, simply acting as a comforting presence who understood Sanji’s anguish. 

There were a million reasons why Sanji couldn’t cry over Ace.

He ignored them all and did it anyway.


	26. Abandoned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is... au where luffy didn’t make it out of book jail in time to meet Sanji at the rendezvous point
> 
> I’ve had this one in mind since I started this challenge, glad to finally post it!

Sanji slid down to the muddy ground, his back leaning against the massive tree stump. The rain poured down mercilessly, soaking his clothes and further ruining the basket of food he had set down beside himself. It didn’t matter anymore. Sanji grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged, cursing himself.  _ Stupid, stupid _ .

Luffy wasn’t here. Of  _ course _ Luffy wasn’t here. Sanji had called him scum, told him to leave, kicked him, his  _ captain _ — Luffy had to have given up on him. They were probably on their way to reunite with the crew— no,  _ their _ crew. The crew Sanji wasn’t a part of anymore. That crew. 

Sanji couldn’t believe how much of an idiot he was. After everything, he had still come here. Part of him had believed Luffy would still be standing here, waiting for him, like some kind of beacon to guide him to the Sunny. He had let himself hope.

_ Why did you even come here, idiot,  _ Sanji asked himself, tears pricking at his eyes.  _ You told them you were done with them, you made a promise, so why did you come back?! _

_ I wanted to see for sure that they were gone,  _ he lied to himself.  _ Now I can get on with everything without any guilt. _

Somewhere, a much quieter voice inside him answered.  _ Because I wanted them to take me home _ . Sanji shoved that response deep inside him. He didn’t want them to take him back after everything he’d done; didn’t want them to forgive him, to hug him, to keep him close the way they had all done with Robin after her rescue. Those were selfish thoughts, and Sanji’s selfishness had already done enough damage to his friends.

With one last sweep of the clearing, a final confirmation that Luffy was nowhere to be found, Sanji headed back to the castle. He left the basket in the middle of the clearing— there was no one left on the island who viewed Sanji as a chef. Once more, he was a pawn. 

It wasn’t difficult to sneak back in through his window, change clothes, and climb into bed. Sleep, however, was significantly more difficult, so Sanji opted to lay awake and stare at the wall until the sun rose. When someone came to fetch him in the morning he followed without complaint. 

_ This is for the best, _ Sanji thought as he pulled on the white suit.  _ This is what has to happen, _ he thought as he stepped out next to Pudding and was carried up to his place on the cake. He briefly caught Reiju’s gaze, and he could tell she was trying to figure out why he hadn’t run off. She wouldn’t understand; she had never had people she loved that could be used against her.  _ This is what I have to do. _

The ceremony began, and Sanji stuck to his script. He stepped forward, he lifted the veil, he stumbled backwards in mock surprise, all like he was supposed to. He said nothing. He pretended not to see the gun. He feigned ignorance.

When Pudding fired, he didn’t dodge. 


	27. Ransom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [updates over a month later] what’s up

“You gonna tell me what the hell happened?” Zeff asked, wrapping a bandage none too gently around a sluggishly bleeding cut on Sanji’s side.

“It’s not a big deal,” the young boy said, swinging his legs restlessly as they hung a few inches from the floor. Sanji yelped as Zeff pulled the bandage taut, his wound aching in protest. 

“I sent you out to restock, not to get—“ the head chef gestured wildly, trying to guess what had happened, as Sanji wouldn’t tell him. “What, stabbed?”

Sanji looked down at his feet, pouting indignantly. “Shot at, actually,” he corrected, though he knew it wouldn’t help his case at all.

Zeff only grew more exasperated, setting the roll of bandages aside. “Look, brat, just—“ he sighed, allowing himself to fall back into a nearby chair. “Just tell me what happened, okay? I won’t be mad or anything.” He folded his hands on the table, not taking his gaze off of Sanji. 

Realizing Zeff wasn’t going to give up, Sanji sighed. “Some guy grabbed me while I was on my way back to the boat with the groceries. Recognized my outfit and said he was gonna make you guys pay to get me back.” Sanji traced the table with his finger, not meeting Zeff’s eyes. “He didn’t tie the ropes well, and I saw him put the gun down on the table, so—“

Zeff stood up, knocking his chair back. “You saw he had a gun and you  _ still _ ran? If he was a better shot, you’d be dead, brat!” Trying not to lose any semblance of calm, Zeff took a deep breath. “Why didn’t you just wait for him to call us?”

There was a moment of quiet before Sanji answered. “I just…” he started, before he trailed off into incoherent mumbling.

“Speak up, eggplant!” Zeff snapped, leaning against the table.

Zeff expected an insult about being hard of hearing as a result of his old age, but it never came. Instead, Sanji kept his eyes averted and balled his fists. “I didn’t know if you would, you know… pay. To get me back, I mean.” His voice was barely loud enough to be heard, but Zeff caught it nonetheless.

Grabbing a wooden spoon off the table, Zeff walked over and smacked Sanji on the head. The boy jumped in surprise, nearly falling out of his chair.

“What the hell was that for, shitty old man!” Sanji shouted, hands on his head, despite the fact that Zeff hadn’t struck him hard enough to actually hurt. 

“ _ That,” _ Zeff grumbled, putting the spoon down, “was for being such an idiot. You really think I wouldn’t pay a couple of Beri to get my sous chef back safe?”

“A  _ couple of Beri? _ ” Sanji repeated with a scowl, glaring at Zeff. “I’m worth at  _ least _ fifty thousand Beri, probably more!” 

Zeff laughed heartily, slapping his hand on the table. “Someone’s a little big for their britches, eggplant. If you had been there any longer, I bet that guy would have paid  _ me _ to take you back!” 

Sanji puffed out his cheeks and pouted the way he always did when someone made fun of him, but Zeff could tell it was a noticeable shift from the despondent gloominess he had had since returning from the failed supply run. It worried the chef that Sanji still hadn’t fully realized— or perhaps accepted— that he was valued by the entire Baratie, both as a chef and as a son. Times like these made Zeff recall the memory of the kid on the rock, unable to understand why someone would show him kindness. It made him uneasy.

“Next time something like that happens,” Zeff said, putting a hand on Sanji’s shoulder, “believe in us a little, okay?”

Sanji blinked, taken aback by the surprisingly affectionate gesture from Zeff. “Alright,” he said, meeting Zeff’s gaze, “I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is Not my fav and I think it’s been blockin me from finishin this so even tho I’m not wholly satisfied I wanted to finish it so I could hopefully wrap up the whole fic soon. We’ll see!!!


	28. Beaten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who’s still working on thiiiiiiis! It’s me. I’m gonna finish it. 3/4 months late. yeah. Love y’all 
> 
> have some sanji and zoro nakamaship

Sanji struggled for breath as he stood with his back against the tree, hopefully hidden from sight. This fight was going about as poorly as it could; as a result of his injured leg, Sanji wasn’t able to put any real power into any of his kicks, and his opponent had most certainly noticed. Largely, the battle had consisted of Sanji evading as much as he could, while landing the occasional weak hit. It was getting him nowhere, and he needed to think of something else. 

Unfortunately, the enemy wouldn’t afford him any time to think. Sanji dodged quickly as a powerful slash cut through the tree he had been hiding behind moments before, slicing it clean in half. Making sure he was out of the path of the falling tree, Sanji scowled. _ I hate swordsmen, _ Sanji thought to himself bitterly as he dove for whatever piece of cover was around. 

It didn’t occur to him how obvious this move would be, what with the only cover available being a large boulder to his right. _ Predictable _, that’s what it was, he realized as the swordsman suddenly appeared right in his path. He tried to retreat, tried to do anything to put some distance between himself and the man’s gleaming steel— and in his panic, Sanji put his weight on the wrong leg. 

The pain was immediate. His leg felt like, like— fire? No, that was wrong, he had set his leg on fire multiple times, and it was nothing like this. Perhaps it was the pain addling his mind, or maybe because all his focus was drawn to the distinct feeling of something inside his leg moving in a way it absolutely _ shouldn’t _, but Sanji couldn’t find the right metaphor for the sensation. Not that it was his most pressing matter, though.

With no chance of keeping himself upright, Sanji’s back slammed into the forest floor— _ hard _. The wind was sufficiently knocked out of him, and he could do nothing but lay in a stupor as the swordsman lunged forward, swords angled downwards with the intention of stabbing straight through him. Maybe he’d miss Sanji’s vital organs. It was a nice thought, at least.

Before Sanji had the chance to test his luck, something slammed into the swordsman, knocking him away. Sanji followed the blur as it slowed, planting its feet firmly in the ground and assuming an offensive stance. Groaning, Sanji’s fear turned to annoyance as he recognized the mossy-headed man who had butted in— _ saved my life, _ Sanji thought, but he pushed it away instantly. Admitting that to himself meant admitting it to the marimo, and there was no chance in hell of that happening. 

Sanji didn’t see the rest of the fight, but he could guess how it would go. He was too busy dragging himself over to the rock he had been aiming for, propping himself up against the smooth stone and gasping for air. His lungs felt constricted, like he couldn’t catch his breath. It took a few minutes for him to recover enough to focus; it didn’t help that at some point, Zoro had taken to standing a few feet away and staring down at him.

Returning his gaze with notably more irritation, Sanji grit his teeth. “You fuckin’ need something, marimo?” Zoro’s gaze was unreadable as always, save for the obvious idiocy— or at least Sanji assumed that’s what that blank stare had to be. 

“Some thanks would be nice,” Zoro grumbled, crossing his arms and watching the cook struggle to pull himself up. 

Sanji huffed, finally standing on his good leg and leaning back against the rock. “I know you want to say something, so go ahead and do it. But I’m really not in the mood for your gloating right now, shithead.” 

Zoro frowned, eyes flicking down to Sanji’s injured leg. “I saw you fuck up your leg on that landing earlier,” he stated plainly. 

It would have been hard not to notice; as the group plummeted over the edge of a cliff, Usopp and Chopper had been crying as they clung to each other, babbling about how short their lives had been. Sanji had been quick to grab the two of them, but as a result, he miscalculated his landing and his leg had crumpled under him. He had been quick to assure everyone he was fine, the way he always did, but anyone with even a semi-keen eye could tell he was lying. 

Sanji said nothing, so Zoro continued. “Why the hell did you insist on going off on your own, idiot cook? There’s no way you didn’t know you’d get your ass kicked if you ran into someone.” 

Sanji snorted, baring his teeth in a snarl. “Thought I could handle it. Nothing _ you _ haven’t done.” He hissed as his leg pulsed with pain. “My leg feels like… shit.” Ah, there it was. That’s the word he was looking for earlier. _ Shit. _

Zoro rolled his eyes before pulling Yubashiri, sheath and all, free. He held it out to Sanji, hand gripping the middle of the sheath. “Here.”

Sanji stared at the sword, uncomprehending. He blinked and looked up at Zoro, squinting. “You want me to… cut my leg off?”

“No, you _ dumbass _,” Zoro growled in exasperation, shoving the sword forward a bit for emphasis. “We can’t stand around here all day, and you obviously can’t walk on your own. Use it.”

“Oh,” Sanji said, reaching out to take the sword. He handled it carefully, the way he would any of his utensils. He leaned against the makeshift cane, trying to avoid putting too much weight on it at the risk of damaging one of Zoro’s prized swords. “Uh. Thanks.”

Zoro was already moving ahead, waving for Sanji to follow. “Don’t get a big head, cook. It’s just easier than carrying your useless ass.” He glanced back over his shoulder, smirking. “Not slowing down for you, either, so you better keep up.”

Sanji grimaced, hobbling forward. “As soon as my leg is better, I’m kicking your ass across the Grand Line.”


	29. Numb

It hadn’t been hard, getting his hands on cigarettes. Zeff smoked on occasion, and several of the other chefs smoked often, stepping out together for a smoke break the same time every day. At a place like the Baratie, filching a cigarette was far from a monumental task.

Despite this, Sanji never tried to smoke as a child; perhaps because no one expressly forbid it, or maybe just because he didn’t feel the need to. There was a period where life was nice— all of Sanji’s thoughts were devoted to cooking, impressing Zeff, and memorizing the menu. His memories only came for him when he slept, in the form of nightmares, and were easily pushed away when he rose in the morning.

As the years passed, this began to change; subtly at first, but quickly becoming more apparent. Sanji’s thoughts became more complex; his focus was still cooking, of course, but things weren’t as simple anymore. He could no longer stave off his memories of Germa. His father’s— no, not his father, Zeff was his father, these were Judge’s— words buried themselves deep within his consciousness, despite his best efforts to push them away. That he was a failure, a disappointment, a mistake. Regrettably, Sanji was starting to believe them— and worse yet, he wasn’t sure he had ever really  _ stopped _ believing them.

Sanji had always felt as though he was missing something, that he was… incomplete. When he was very young, it had been quite literal; he lacked the powers and strength of his siblings. Aboard the Orbit, he was aimless. He wanted to be a chef, but he was too afraid to start his own life that he clung to the meager job on the ship. He had no goal. And now, well, he had a bit more trouble pinning down exactly what left that empty feeling in his chest. He had a family, a dream, superb cooking skills— life aboard the Baratie was fulfilling, it was everything he could have hoped for when he was but a child locked away in a cell. Still, the feeling persisted. Still, Sanji wasn’t  _ enough _ .

He was somewhere in his teen years when he smoked his first cigarette. Years of living and working together had led him to knowing most of his fellow chef’s habits, including where Carne stashed his backup pack of smokes downstairs. He was careful to take only one, and then headed out to the deck opposite where the chefs typically took their smoke breaks. It was late, the moon high in the sky as it painted the crests of the small waves rocking the ship. Everyone else had retreated to their rooms at this point, so Sanji was alone. Striking a match, he lit the cigarette and raised it to his lips.

The experience was awful, though Sanji wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. His throat burned, his chest ached, his stomach flipped; in his surprise, Sanji actually dropped the just-lit cigarette into the dark waters below. Not that he noticed, what with how busy he was trying to muffle his coughing so as not to wake any of the chefs. Smoking was  _ awful _ , and in that moment Sanji swore it off.

Of course, he tried it again later, just for good measure. And another time, and once after that— eventually, it stopped qualifying as  _ trying _ and just became  _ doing. _ Zeff never said anything to him about it. He had always let Sanji figure out his own problems, and this was no different. They all had their own vices, and smoking was Sanjis. It chased off the thoughts of his— of Judge, for the time being, at least. Sanji was aware they never really left; the words were always there, wrapped around his heart like a briar patch. But the nicotine drove them off, forced them to the back of his mind where at least he didn’t have to be  _ aware _ of them.

That was the best he could hope for. Right?


	30. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ones real weird. sorry?
> 
> established acesan. yeah
> 
> I’ll post the last chap tomorrow!

Sanji stared at the stove. This was dumb, this was  _ really  _ dumb. He was a chef, for fuck’s sake. He had to be able to use the stove.

And yet, as soon as those flames sprouted up out of the burners, Sanji turned away. He couldn’t do it, not yet, not  _ ever _ — it was so dumb, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t even look at a flame without feeling the terrible, persistent stabbing in his stomach. It fucking  _ sucked. _

It wasn’t that Sanji was suddenly afraid of fire. No, he had never once been afraid of fire— a good chef couldn’t be. A good chef had to be able to turn on the burner without losing it. Well, maybe Sanji wasn’t such a good chef anymore.

It was more that Sanji couldn’t look into a flame without thinking of  _ him.  _ It was only natural, he supposed; Sanji knew for a fact that he wasn’t the only one among the crew who instantly thought of Luffy when he saw something stretchy. These associations were to be expected, especially when someone defines their entire persona by their power. Fire had been his thing.

Sanji switched the burner off without turning back.

* * *

The crew was dealing surprisingly well with Sanji's sudden aversion to fire. Sanji knew it was shitty of him to serve so many cold or oven-only dishes— one could only eat so many rice balls and sandwiches before they desired something more— and it only made him more frustrated that he couldn’t move past this. It shouldn’t be this hard.

He was trying again today. His hand grasped the knob, but he made no move to turn it. Unbidden and unwanted, an old memory of a conversation between the two of them crept into his mind.

_ “So, you like fire?” he asks, a twinkle in his eyes telling Sanji that he already knows the answer. _

_ “Obviously. What kind of chef would I be if I didn’t?” Sanji shoots back in response, tossing the contents of the skillet into the air a few times.  _

_ He pauses for a moment, tapping his fingers against the wooden table. “A sushi chef?” he answers, but it sounds more like he’s asking. He’s never one to leave any questions unanswered, even the rhetorical ones. “Or a guy who only makes salads?” _

_ “Hah,” Sanji says dryly, but he can’t keep the smile from finding its way onto his face. “Funny.” _

Sanji pulled his hand away from the knob. Not today. Maybe tomorrow. Not today.

* * *

He could do it this time. His hands were shaking, his breath was ragged from practically running into the kitchen, and he was in perhaps the worst possible headspace for this; but that was exactly why he had to try now.

So. Luffy’s brother was alive. Well, his other brother, the one Sanji didn’t know about. Apparently, half the crew had met him back in Dressrosa, after Sanji had led the others off to Zou. Somehow, now that the crew was back together, he’d found his way to the Sunny’s deck.

Sanji didn’t dislike the guy. In the time the crew had spent getting to know Sabo, Sanji had been extremely relieved to realize that he was absolutely nothing like  _ him. _ While Sabo had a veneer of politeness about himself, it didn’t take long to see that his manners were actually on par with Luffy’s— that is to say, abysmal. He was brash, and in his own way, charming, and Sanji was pretty sure he could get along with him.

At least, until Sabo leaned against the railing and turned his hand into fire. Someone had mentioned beforehand that Sabo had eaten the Flame-Flame Fruit, but Sanji had shoved it to the back of his mind, refusing to let his own feelings color his perceptions of someone he was meeting for the first time. Even so, seeing such a familiar gesture made Sanji look away, unable to keep his eyes on the warm glow of the flames. 

He pulled out a cigarette, cursing quietly as he patted himself down for his lighter to no avail. Suddenly, the tip of his cigarette burst into flame and Sanji froze. He slowly raised his head to see Sabo, still several feet away from him, with his finger outstretched and a small flame dancing on the tip of it. He had a friendly, playful smile that made Sanji preemptively apologetic for the reaction he could feel coming. 

Sanji tossed the cigarette over the railing and into the waters below— not dismissively, more like a delayed shock. Without stopping to gauge anyone’s reactions, Sanji turned on his heel and hurried off to the kitchen. He could tell he had sufficiently killed the atmosphere, anyway. 

So here he was, hiding in the kitchen away from his crew and his guest. He turned the burner on and forced himself not to look away. The small ring of flames jumped about, reaching upwards for a moment before pulling back. 

Sanji could feel tears welling up in the corner of his eyes. Though he stood a safe distance away, he could still feel the warmth of the flame. It felt like— like  _ Ace. _ It was nice. Upsetting, painful, sure, but nice. 

He could get past this. 


	31. Embrace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.” —John Donne

When Sanji finally saw Luffy again, he wanted to hug him.

Perhaps that was an unreasonable thing to want; to hug someone that you had recently kicked and insulted and  _ hurt _ relentlessly was odd, so Sanji abstained. Sanji sat and watched Luffy eat the ruined bento, complimenting Sanji’s cooking, caring too damn much about his runaway cook, and he did not move. 

Maybe he didn’t know how to hug anymore. Whenever Chopper threw himself at Sanji, the cook pushed him away under the guise of not wanting to wrinkle his suit. In all honesty, Sanji couldn’t remember the last time he had had a real, comforting hug. Zeff wasn’t a hugger, and Judge was only a hugger when it came to kids he  _ liked _ , so it would probably have been back when his mother was alive. She had always embraced him as though love was an unlimited resource. He had tried to retain that ideology as much as he could, but lately love wasn’t getting him very far in a kingdom full of hatred. 

At least he knew how to cry. Sanji had never stopped crying. He cried when his mother died, when his “family” hurt him; cried when he was set free, and when he was suddenly a prisoner again. He cried when Zeff was kind to him— almost every time Zeff was kind to him, up until his final kindness of sending Sanji off to sea with his well wishes. He cried from time to time on their journey, though he tried not to do it around the others very much. He cried when he realized not a single person on this godforsaken island was in his corner, and he had pushed away the few people that did care about him. Crying came easy.

And now he was crying because Luffy had asked him what  _ he _ wanted. For the first time in what felt like months, but was really only a few excruciatingly long days, Sanji was allowed to be selfish. Sanji took full advantage of the opportunity. He wanted back in the crew, he wanted to go home to the Sunny, he wanted to save those shitty scummy people who didn’t deserve to be saved, he wanted— he wanted… to hug Luffy, he supposed. To tell his captain how much he loved him, how grateful he was to Luffy for not giving up on him, even after what he’d done. 

But he didn’t voice those final wishes. Luffy accepted him back, just like that, and gave in to his myriad of selfish desires. Agreed to help protect these awful people, agreed to take his wayward cook back, agreed to guide him home. Sanji couldn’t understand how so much kindness could fit into one stretchy body. 

_ Maybe,  _ Sanji thought, with the tiniest flame of hope burning somewhere deep inside him,  _ maybe he would agree to one more selfish wish. _

Sanji forced himself up off the wet ground, pants thoroughly soaked from the grass. Luffy was still grinning at him, wide and warm and  _ forgiving _ , and it finally began to hit Sanji that Luffy wouldn’t leave without him. He no longer had to die at the wedding tomorrow. It was going to be okay, because his crew was here.

In the most undignified manner possible, Sanji threw himself at his captain, wrapping his arms tight around Luffy. The man still felt far too thin in his embrace, wet clothes clinging to his frame. His tears returned in full force— not that they had ever really stopped— and he rested his head on the shorter man’s shoulder. 

_ How odd, to be hugging someone you had a fistfight with minutes before. _

Luffy was still for a moment— likely taken aback by the uncharacteristic show of affection, Sanji figured— before he returned the hug. His hands found Sanji’s back, and he said nothing, because he didn’t need to. Despite the chill of the rain, Sanji felt warm in the embrace. 

Sanji felt something else, too. It had started with watching Luffy eat the ruined bento, and it only intensified as Luffy held him now. To say that Sanji had grown up without kindness would be a lie; Zeff showed him kindness every day. But rather, he lacked  _ gentleness _ — you couldn’t find that anywhere aboard the rough-and-tumble environment of the Baratie. He hadn’t felt gentleness like this since his mother’s passing, and it was doing a number on the somewhat emotionally withdrawn persona he had built.

“’m sorry,” Sanji mumbled into Luffy’s shoulder. He wanted to say so much more, but he was choking on his words. Nothing else would come out, just apologies. It was pathetic, but when  _ hadn’t  _ Sanji felt pathetic in the last couple of days? 

He felt one of his captain’s hands make its way to the back of his head, his fingers resting in the wet blond hair. In that moment, Sanji felt closer to Luffy than he ever had before, and not just physically. This was the man he wanted to sail to the ends of the earth with. The man he wanted to help become the Pirate King. He couldn’t do that if he ran off and quit the crew.

_ I won’t leave again _ , Sanji thought, and he wasn’t sure if he meant to say it aloud, but he had the feeling Luffy already knew. Sanji had already said what he felt. He didn’t need to say anything else; Luffy understood. They were alright, for now.

_ I’m coming home, everyone. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wellllll that’s it! Thanks so much to everyone who stuck with me thru out my long and erratic posting schedule. Feels nice to have this all finished :-D
> 
> this is absolutely not the end of me doin sanji angst tho for sure . if ur all about that make sure to Watch My Spot cause I’ve got other new fics in the WORKS. I will keep hurting him
> 
> love y’all <3


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